Out of mind, out of sight
by CrucisDeus
Summary: Ezreal is competing in the Challenge for Progress, a yearly event in which Zaun and Piltover battle for funds and researchers. It seems that Piltover is going to take home the win, and Noxus is having none of that. They will employ any methods necessary. And someone else is after them too. Rated M for violence, mental issues and insanity, and possible citrus later on.
1. Don't have a head

It should go without saying that all the characters, and the setting, belong to Riot Games, this piece being as it is a piece of LoL fanfiction. That said, I am writing this because:

1) Me likes the game very much.

2) I am currently having a massive writer's block in another story, and want to explore new plot points, scenes, narrative developments (and also some rue family themes), the easy way.

3) I haven't seen anyone pairing these two, so it's about time.

4) If you need yet another reason for me to write this fanfic, you're such a... n inquisitive one.

Also, a couple things you should keep in mind; English is not my native language, and I can get pretty long winded with plot arcs. Also, criticism is very much appreciated; if there's something you don't like (and it is not dying for your ship type of dislike), do please tell me what it is and why.

* * *

 **Chapter 1. If you have a head, blood will rush to it.**

The battle against the Zaunites had been harsh and bloody. Mostly the latter. He was drained, battered, cold in the thorny undergrowth of the forest. But worst of all, he was afraid. Every and each time he died, or didn't die, the blue whirl would envelop him, healing his wounds, searing him from the inside out, and forcing him to keep carrying on. His fear was not of death, nor of pain, as if he'd already grown used to that. It was mildly amusing even, how even though it was almost June, he felt cold. He knew it was from blood loss, but this didn't alleviate it in the slightest. From somewhere beyond the river that almost lapped at his hand, he heard a low groan, interspersed with the gurgling sound of breath bubbling through blood. Mundo had taken good care of one of his teammates, Jayce most probably, and was now sprinting towards him, about to finish what Jinx did or could not.

He almost wished for Mundo to whack him with that cleaver of his one more time, to put him out of his misery. And his wish transpired so; his head was severed from his shoulders with one quick slash. He was aware of himself succumbing to gravity, rolling downhill and into the water, and then his world faded to black.

Then to blue. Another death. He braced himself for the pain, the torture he would be submitted to. Even though he knew it would last for thirty seconds at most, it felt like thirty hours, at least. The Summoner who was bonded to him would surely be berating him for his failure, making sure his wounds healed in the most painful way possible, threatening him about his next death being final. Even though they both knew that it was both against the rules of the League and flat out impossible on the Summoner's Rift. Still, the thought of becoming something not even remotely capable of thought, let alone action, frightened him. In his mind he sought solace, bringing forward memories of their meeting yesterday, her radiant smile serving just fine as a barrier against his summoner's intrusion.

* * *

However, what he felt was the Rift's magic letting go of him, the warm rush of being revived just outside the rift. Thank God the match had ended. Even if they had lost, it was still worth it. Beside him were two fellow Piltovians, Jayce and Vi, and the two Crownguards. They were smiling at each other, and at him.

"Oh my God, that was close. I thought we'd lose," Jayce said, firmly shaking Garen's hand. "You're the man."

"No, Ezreal here is the man. Taking on those three on his own, that was such a performance. He even got the psycho!" Garen replied, smiling. "How was my sister on the southern flank?"

Ezreal chuckled slightly. "We sure make a good couple in lane. She's nice, makes my life a whole lot easier."

Lux chortled, beamed at him. "She's such a piece of sunshine, she lights the day right up," her brother said, wrapping them both in a huge man-hug.

"Stand ready," Vi said. "Three... two... one..."

"Squeeeeeeeal!" The flash illuminated their faces for a split second, dazzling everyone but Lux, who, being who and what she was, didn't even flinch. Ezreal wiped a tear from his eyes, heard her giggle, and he laughed too, for no good reason.

That was until he saw the losing team entering. Mundo came in first, syringe in hand, examining it closely, followed by Jinx and Thresh, and then Singed and his bottle, which still let go puffs of (thankfully neutralized) gas every now and then. Then the Noxian that had insisted on replacing Ekko while he recovered. Ever eager to sow discord all around, she partook in disputes she'd have no apparent reason for. The simplest explanation he could think of for all of those gratuitous performances was that she had to appease her bloodlust somehow, however civilized it seemed to do so in the Fields of Justice. Ezreal hated Noxians and their constant lies and sleights, and he saw Garen barely managing to keep his mouth shut for pretty much the same reasons, and of course Demacia.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the summoner's voice was magically amplified, "another victory for Piltover in the eleventh round of the Challenge for Progress. The Institute of War asks you: will Piltover continue on their unstoppable rampage, or will the forces of Zaun ride a second wind as the cycle comes to an end? Stay tuned the day after tomorrow for the twelfth, and possibly final, round."

Ezreal looked about to see what everyone was doing, and was amused to see Jinx, Singed and Mundo already laughing their asses off. In a way it was surprising how the two brutes could even have a sense of humor. Jinx, not so much, he was sure she was laughing just because she found Singed's shield funny or something like that. Thresh was a little off to the side, talking to Lux in what seemed to be pretty civil terms.

"Daydreaming again, are we?" she said, catching him by surprise. Of how she'd gotten just behind him without him realising, he had no idea. Mostly because she wasn't there, and had probably never been. Still, he didn't exactly felt reassured by it. He looked around, slightly befuzzled, and felt someone pat his back. If she was playing her stupid games on... it was Jayce, of course.

"What's up Ez, everything OK?" he said, looking mildly concerned.

"Yeah, pretty much so, why are you asking?"

"You got pretty scared about something I'd say. You were looking at the Zaunites and suddenly turned around... You know, just checking in," Jayce said, smiling. "By the way, we should be going. I for one don't want to miss the cupcakes."

"Oh, is she making those? No way!"

"Yup. She said that, should we win, two each. Crownguards included."

"You are serious, right? Caitlyn making cupcakes for us!?"

"Well, yes. And Morgana too," Ezreal drooled at the statement. "They got both picked for bottom lane last round. I can only guess that Caitlyn planted any number of traps for Lulu in plain sight and Morgana was... well, Morgana, and somehow managed to challenge our sheriff on who makes the best pastries."

"Ever boisterous around her pastries. And our Sheriff got tangled in her games. Angel girl's got talent for trolling."

"And you've got talent to miss the point completely, sweetheart," said Morgana, who had just snuck up behind him. "I wonder if you have been missing my point as well, for all of those three months. Probably yes. Such explorer, that can't even explore himself!"

"I don't want what you want from me, but I don't want any of that," he replied, about to turn back towards Jayce. Oddly enough, Jayce was turned to Vi as if he hadn't noticed Morgana at all. Which probably meant she wasn't there. However, he was sure they would have noticed him talking to what essentially amounted to blank space, and would jab on him for the thousandth time that he should visit a psychiatry ward. It was true that he was being deceived by his own mind as of late. Oh well, he thought, I can deal with that later. But, to his surprise, everyone was gone. Had he been out for so long last time? He didn't want to know. The amount of matches, the amount of times he had died and come back to life as of late, the preparations for the final they'd just won must have gotten to him in some way.

Indeed, he felt tired. He made a break for the Grand Hall of Piltover in the Institute, where there was no doubt a party going on. He could almost feel the smell and the sounds, and his tiredness. His feet hurt from the grueling battle, all the running and jumping and Arcane Shifting had taken their toll.

Right as he was expecting it, everyone was celebrating. Caitlyn and Vi, the latter of which being well on the way of being drunk off her ass, were dancing to a neat little beat, while on a nearby bench Jayce, Garen and Jarvan IV were telling jokes. Morgana, Lux and someone else he couldn't quite recognize were behind a bar, serving drinks and pastries to Professor Heimerdinger and the lot of Yordles who had gathered around him. There also were several Piltovian summoners who walked back and forth, smiling, celebrating they had won yet another round this cycle and were two wins off winning outright. Not only would his city get a significant boost in funding, they would be recognized as a worthy opponent. And would add that extra little bit of padding between them and the ever hungry Noxus.

But he had more important things in his head. He had a lot to read about the Vallant people, and their folk traditions, in preparation for the trip he was about to undertake. What was he even doing in the party? He had to get to the library, right now! Even though he was tired, he grabbed his share of the cupcakes on the table, packed them away and bolted for the library. There was a long way from the Piltover section though, and after a minute or so his legs began to feel sore. He slowed to a walking pace, but his determination did not diminish.

* * *

As he turned a corner, he saw a couple of what looked to be Ionian summoners searching for something, or someone. Most probably someone, if he were to look at their faces.

"Oh look, here we go," said one of them. "The Prodigal Explorer. Ask him the questions."

Ezreal was caught by surprise, dumbfounded. He didn't harbor any particular feelings towards the Ionians, good or ill, and he had likewise nothing to do with them.

"Excuse me sir, but... uh, are you sure I'm the man you're searching for?"

The largest of the summoners stepped closer. "Absolutely. Now, have you seen the Loose Cannon as of late?"

"Uhm, I just was in the Fields of Justice against her, but apart from that, I'm afraid not. Let me guess-" if they were asking for Jinx, she had surely blown something up that she shouldn't, "sixty wounded?"

"Actually, no. Rumor has it that the Dark Sovereign has her locked up, but if you say she's alive and well, we probably are in the clear, in which case we are back to our business. Thanks for your help, Prodigal Explorer."

Though he didn't dislike Ionians, he felt like most of them were somewhat of a nutcase. He also noticed that the other people in the corridor seemed quite indifferent to him standing still in the middle of a four-way junction, watching the cloister in which the summoners had gone and vanished. Anyway, he continued towards the library, because that's where he would most likely find the information he needed. To understand what the ruins meant, the themes behind the symbols they depicted, the legends of their builders, he had to know something about a culture of ages long past, a culture so alien to his own he even struggled to fathom it. Times of war and famine, those were things every culture could relate to, but every one would attribute to them different deities, heroes, and would even turn a unique face toward those challenges.

Take the Shurima Desert for example. In the wastes, in the rock formations, there had once been excavated villages. The few manuscripts he could recover from them told tales of the Earth Weaver, how he brought fertility to the soil, and also how their ancestors had angered Him and he made the mountains to the east, blocking off the moisture. Although quite scarce, there were non-religious texts in such places too; but those single pages, often a page or two of some priest's diary, were often far more interesting, for they spoke of how the ancient people actually lived their lives.

As for him, he missed the thrill of unravelling new ruins, setting the ground for new discoveries, or simply travelling to lands far away and unknown to his own civilization. But to do that, he had to find the books he needed, those would always take him to the edge of knowledge and so he'd only have to take one single step.

* * *

"Ezreal, the Prodigal Explorer, it is pleasant to see you here again," Nasus' deep voice rumbled from above him. The jackal-ascended was imposing as always in his golden armor, though not threatening. That hostility and aggressiveness were reserved for his enemies, a trait Ezreal wished more Champions would have.

"I salute you, Curator. How's work going?"

"Quite well indeed. Those weekly reports from the Institute do get quite tiresome at times, ah, preserving history takes time. At least I've only had one battle in the last three days, so I could read. By the way, I think you'd like to know that someone asked me on your whereabouts early in this morning."

Ezreal was quite surprised to hear that. "So they must be interested in what I read. Do you recall who it was, that asked for me?"

Nasus shook his head. "No. I was quite distracted at the time, with those reports I mentioned earlier no less, so I didn't quite pay full attention. A mage for sure, seeing how she carried herself, but no. And she didn't look like Lux at all."

"Eh, they will ask again, I guess. By the way, is there anything concerning the Vallant in the library?"

"The Vallant?" Nasus said, somewhat bemused. "Strange I haven't heard anything of them before, if there is anything it should lie right past everything on the Freljordian Sagas, full on to the right and the far end."

"Many thanks and... uh, anything interesting popped up?" Ezreal said as he lightly massaged his head.

"Are you quite alright? You are more disperse than usual."

"Ugh, it must be all the training deaths for the challenge, they must have gotten in my head in some way. It's gotten way worse since that last match against Jinx and co. I don't think it's serious or anything, a good read should do for now. I'm too tired for parties and the likes really..."

"Let you be right. By the way, don't forget we close at one o'clock."

That said, Ezreal went into the library. He was indeed centered on his objective, enough to miss the worried look in Nasus' face. So he went straight to the right, caught a glimpse of Draven of all people reading by one of the tables closest to the entrance, and sunk in the endless corridor of tomes and books. He knew there was a round table, close to a window, in which he would be able to study in peace, for no one had reasons to dive so deep.

Demacian myths to his right, Noxian accounts to his left, they stood on opposite sides, like in the world outside, no doubt spewing accusatory words at one another. Then Ionian parables at one side, always introspective, while Demacian literature still had a way to go and carried on until the end of the corridor. Prolific writers they were. Next to the Ionian, the ancient manuscripts of the Archives of Shurima and other places of the desert, some of which he had unearthed himself.

Then the Freljord. He knew he was about to find what he searched for, and started looking more attentively at the titles. _Great Warriors of the Winter's Claw_ he could probably skip altogether, _Freljordian Astronomy_ could be interesting but still it was not what he was searching for. _Of the Frozen Watchers_ , on the other hand, could be interesting, for if he was not mistaken, the Vallant people had died out due to a cold spell. Maybe there would be hints about what happened to them in the end, scattered amongst parables and legends and myths, so he grabbed it and continued on in his search. He ended up grabbing another four books which could potentially hold clues. One of them was a report from Piltovian scientists on their findings in the _ice cores_ of the Howling Abyss. After all, he wrote to expand that knowledge to people who didn't have the time to scrutinize hundreds of books and make a days-long travel to the other side of Valoran.

So he did that. Because he could, and he liked it. Was there any other reason?

He sat at the table, and to his surprise, there was a girl whom he didn't recognize at first glance. She was reading too, her eyes devouring letters, darting from left to right. He didn't heed her presence much, he just sat down opposite her in the round table and laid his books on the table. He was shocked to see they were cold to the touch. He giggled at the thought that books of the Freljord were cold to the touch, and it seemed such a silly thing, well they were from up there! But then he realized that the Freljordian books were cold to the touch, and that it could herald no good things. Either there was some kind of magic in them, or worse, they were wet.

And as he opened the first book, the rotten stench of mold eating paper washed over him like a wave of quicksilver attempting to drown him. He wheezed, gasped, but started turning pages to see if there was anything salvageable. Most of the ink had been washed out in the water's wake, leaving but a series of unreadable blots, and his head started hurting again. Even the edges of the book itself seemed wispy and blurry, but they were not so when he took... when he... he didn't know what he had been thinking, his head throbbed too hard to think properly anymore. It felt as if someone was hitting the spot between his eyebrows with sewage water, and his body started to fail him.

It was then that he noticed that the bookshelves also looked blurry, and the curtains, and the table, and his own hand. It was as if the world around him threatened to disappear any second, and him with it. He was no longer in pain, but he would have traded his current state of disorientation for pain without any second thoughts. He felt as if he was about to die in the Rift, as if some overarching magic was claiming his memories to be restored later. Sleep, perhaps?

Then he felt the need to grasp for some purchase, to right himself. He looked at the girl sitting in front of him, smiling at him. She was smiling at him. Yes, she was smiling at him. The problem laying therein, he shouldn't have been able to tell it from the general blur, what the silky curtains had become. It was then he took heed of his being extremely, unnaturally tired, and that he could see Mount Targon in the distance. But the pain was gone, and he sat in the library, in the Institute.

And Syndra's face was not blurry, nor was it purple.  
As soon as he recognized her, his strength returned to him,  
albeit only partially.  
It was she who spoke first.

"Long way away now. Back in place?"


	2. blank

**Chapter 2. .**

"Wait... what?"

"I've cast it out a long way away. Are you back in place?"

Ezreal wouldn't, couldn't make sense of her melodious voice.

"The books. They were wet. I opened one and it was full of mold, and that knocked me out somehow. God, that fungus was vile."

Syndra raised an eyebrow, curious as to what he'd been seeing.

"Wet books? How'd water have entered here?"

Ezreal brought his hands to his ear as if to block out her speech. In truth, his head was hurting again. "Yes, the books. I mean, look at the books! Don't you see anything wrong with them? The books... are..."

It was then that he glanced at the table and realized that the books were, in fact, in a most pristine state, and perfectly legible. He ran a hand through one of their pages to be sure, noticing that the water had also somehow gone away. Well this made no fucking sense.

"Ezreal," he cringed at being called by his name, "do you see my orbs beside me, right now?"

He squinted, trying hard to see blotches of darkness orbiting her. He didn't, and told her so. Then she asked him again as she brought three spheres into existence and set them in motion.

"I do see them now. They are as clear as day, how could I miss them before?" he said.

"Because they weren't there, and have never been." The orbs dispersed as soon as she'd said that. "I do have absolute control of my magic, after all."

"But I just saw them! I mean, they were... right here, spinning. They were right here! How could I have missed them? You just took them away! I mean..."

Syndra rose from her chair, walked over to where he was. She grabbed a chair, slammed it down on the ground next to him, and caressed his hair. She took her sweet time caressing his golden locks, with an almost perverted look on her face, then she snapped into her rage again and pulled him by those very tresses. Hard.

"Now then, did you feel _that?_ " She taunted him, rattling his head about again.

He felt the urge to shift out of there, but he couldn't call on his magic. He was powerless, trapped, for her to do with as she wished. But he wasn't going down without a fight. He looked at Syndra, and what he saw left him dumbfounded, for her face showed nothing but concern over him. He felt his strength return to him somewhat, and mustered the courage to talk back.

"Alright Syndra, just tell me what the fuck is going on. Are you having fun, playing with me? Well then, congratulations, you won the prize: goody two-shoes, blond, blue eyed, naïve boy who did so much as daring to sit near your perky sovereign ass and..."

"Tell me what, would you like to have tea over at my place?" she said, her expression unwavering.

"Wh... Tea, in your godsdamned home? Why'd I, or you, do that?"

"Hm, since you seem to be shaping up to be your enemy, I invite you over to tea preemptively. I'm sure you know this ancient Ionian proverb. You might not know its meaning, but that's a whole another story."

"And what's with that story? How's the, umm..."

"The tea?" she asked, acting like Luxanna with her tone and bubbliness. "In five minutes it will be ready. Hold on, I'm going to grab the mittens." Except she was very clearly Syndra. Yes, she was Syndra, and why he was in one of the Institute's apartments with her was unknown to him. He looked around to see purple decorations, among them Syndra's headdress resting on a table.

"Wait a second, are we at your place yet? Wow, that was fast."

"Hm, do you remember how you got here?"

"Yes. I was in the library searching for anything related to the Vallant, and there was a girl on that table in the corner which is always empty. Then I open a book and it turns out it's wet and full of mold, I get a terrible headache, that girl turns out to be you, _you start playing with and hurting me_ and then you invite me to your place over a tea. Then I... then we came here. It was fast!"

Syndra rested her hand on the table, propping herself on it, and absorbed herself in thought for an eternal minute.

"And then what about the books? Are you going to stay here looking at the books' cover all day or are you going to actually read something?"

"Read." Ezreal grabbed one of the books from the table, opened it. Dry and clean. "Wait, did Nasus let us... no he wouldn't, which means that... uhh..."

"Tell me what. How can you open a book if I have been holding your head against the table, all this time?"

"But my head is..." Ezreal said. Then Syndra slammed his head on the table with such force he was sure he couldn't have survived the impact. "Well it was free until you killed me by slamming it against the table... hey, wait a minute, I'm most certainly alive. I just said you killed me. What's wrong with me?"

"Who did you have your last match with and against, in the Fields? Name the champions."

He couldn't make sense of that question either, but played along nevertheless. "Well, for Piltover it was Vi, Jayce, Lux and Garen..." he earned a reproachful look from Syndra "...and obviously enough myself, while on the enemy team there was Jinx, Singed, Mundo, Thresh and... um, who was in the middle lane? I can't recall who she was."

"There you have the culprit. Name her. Who was she?"

"I don't remember... definitely a human, dark hair... Noxian?"

"You were battling against Zaun, so it makes sense."

"Hm, I know that she belongs to an important organisation in Noxus... Did it suddenly start to rain outside? I could have sworn it was clear before. Anyway, you wanted to know that there was someone in the middle lane I have been so far unable to name. And you wanted to know who she was."

"Just name her. Golden chains, bouncing orbs, she has three of herself,... nothing?"

"Everything you say rings a bell, for I know who she is, but I can't name her!"

"Why not? Deception, classic misdirection, lies about all the time... makes your life bar disappear... no, nothing still?"

"I know who she is, but I cannot name her! You don't understand, my brain shuts down every time I try to say her name aloud."

Syndra looked amused, if anything, and sat on the table, right next to one of the books, while still keeping his head pinned to the table. "Oh, I understand perfectly, trust me. Why do you feel like your brain shuts down every time you want to say it?"

"I get those headaches..." he said, and as another wave of exhaustion washed over him, he stopped trying to get out from Syndra's grasp, surrendered to her command. "Why has the world gone so... haywire... so quick?"

"Why can't you name her, Ezreal?" Syndra said, her face betraying an anger and disappointment that far surpassed anything he'd seen from anyone. Except perhaps Vi. "Now you tell me, or I will make sure that you die in the most painful way possible. WHY CAN'T EZREAL NAME YOU?"

That sudden shout made Ezreal enter a state of extreme fear. He felt like he was going to throw up. He inhaled. "BECAUSE LEBLANC WON'T LET... wait. I did say her name."

"Yes, you did. Are you better now?"

* * *

Ezreal couldn't help but appreciate the irony of the situation. The woman who'd slammed his head onto the table, who would rip his hair off just for her own amusement, who threatened to kill him just mere seconds ago, was asking him whether he was alright. And the most surprising thing about it all is that he _did feel_ a lot better. He was still tired as all get out, still had a little residual headache, but his senses felt immensely sharper. He sat himself upright once more as the white-haired lady let go of him. She instead sat on the chair beside him and tapped her fingers lightly on the wooden table, waiting for him to make a move.

"Pretty much. I think I had a panic attack, but I don't feel any of it lingering."

"Took a good deal of effort, could free you at last. I wonder why Leblanc would want to cloud your mind so."

He was in the library, just casually chatting up a hot girl he met. Who also happened to be the Dark Sovereign.

"Noxians... I hate those guys. Now more than ever."

Syndra laughed at that. It was not like Lux's, it was deeper, richer, and more suggestive, but he liked it just as much.

"You are not the only one in this table who hates them, trust me. They threatened to raze the whole of Ionia to the ground after all."

"But don't you hate your people?" Syndra raised an eyebrow, urging him to continue. "Well, at least everyone so far has told me so. They say you're a monster. That you have no compassion about anyone or anything. Yet you just demonstrated the opposite, with me."

Syndra forced herself to keep smiling. "Yes I do hate my people, at least those who represent them. Wouldn't you want to vanquish those who tried to kill you?"

"Absolutely," he said. Realizing that he was on shaky ground, he decided that changing the subject was for the best. "Anyhow, what would bring you here in the library? Did you find some ancient tome on an arcane spell?"

"Why'd you ask?" she said curtly.

"Oh, right. I never trained the magic within me, so if I am to know about it, I must ask people who do know, such as you. Ancient peoples used magic too, and I know for a fact that their interaction with it was quite interesting."

Syndra would have blushed, but her skin was too dark for it to show. "Oh! I wasn't expecting that from you. I know how strangers think of me, don't like it in the least, but I understand why they do. After all it's true that I like nothing more than exercising my magic to the end of my ability, the same way an assassin likes nothing more than stretching their muscles in the morning."

Ezreal stretched his arms and his back as if to live what she was saying. Also to bring his hands closer towards hers for a moment. Unsurprisingly, she didn't react to that.

"Most of the time you would have been right but, you know, I also enjoy a good, relaxed read from time to time." She mirrored his former gesture as she spoke. "Unlike you, I don't get out much, so I read."

"Demacian romance novels? Noxian drama?"

"No, silly. Demacian romance is too corny for my taste. Noxian theatre on the other hand... I've heard that, despite all, they do have a few great plays. Probably still about axes and bloodshed but..."

Now Syndra was blushing despite her dark complexion. Ezreal had the sense to look to her side, and saw that she was actually reading _Shurima, or how I almost died of thirst_. Which was one of his earliest published books. Now it was his turn to laugh like an idiot.

"No way you're reading that. It's worthless, just a collection of rambles I wrote while I tried and failed to make my way to the southern desert."

"You say it's worthless because you've written it. Happens. You are not that chap at the entrance right? The way you describe the wilderness, the things you'd talk about with people on the road, it makes me laugh every time. Like that time you had to drink from a camel bladder. I can totally picture how you felt."

"Don't remind me of that. Ugh! Anyway, now that you mention it, any idea why Draaaaven is in the library at all?"

"He does just as you do. He writes books about executions I think. Fool's errand if you ask me. I know most Noxians aren't that perturbed."

"Are you serious?" said Ezreal on the brink of laughing out loud.

"No," she said. Ezreal burst into laughter. "What I'm sure of is that he was writing something, and that he doesn't want to be disturbed. He didn't make a pass at me, nor at Katarina when she walked over there."

They both burst into laughter simultaneously. A tear fell from Syndra's left eye at the same time than Ezreal's. They laughed again, for no reason at all. He half expected to find himself in some unlikely situation by now, but it seemed that Leblanc's spell had truly died.

"Oh, now that I remember, on my way here I bumped into a couple of your summoners. They said that it is believed that you have Jinx locked in some dungeon or something. Any idea why?"

"Isn't she adorable?" she said, acting like a little girl. Then: "She would totally deserve that, but unfortunately I haven't got ahold of her," in an exaggerately deep voice. Which wasn't out of character.

"Or maybe it was just Leblanc. I don't know, maybe it was another of her lies."

"No it wasn't, and don't beat yourself over it now." Syndra sported a serious visage for just a second, then it broke as quickly as it had come. "In fact, Varus told me as much yesterday. That I had enslaved Jinx, used her for my pleasure and for Mother Earth knows what teemonic ritual." Ezreal chortled. "Actually, scratch that last part."

"Too white for you, the teemonic ritual? That's what you are meaning..."

Under the table, Syndra kicked his shin, not forcefully enough to really hurt but she got the message across. Still, she confirmed that hypotesis just to tease him.

"Anyway, and subject change incoming, how have your matches gone as of late? Winning much?" he said, lightly kicking back at her.

"Ehhh, don't remind me about that. Well, mostly, but yesterday I was summoned by a novice. They say I am a difficult person, but man, that summoner told me to unleash my power against Nautilus of all people. Every time."

Ezreal laughed again, took a kerchief from his pocket to dry his tears. "Well I'm sure that if you ever have spent any time at all in the Piltovian wing, you have heard someone talk about the melee Ezreal. Those types are obnoxious!"

"I can picture it." she said, still smiling. Her blush had subsided long ago.

"Dude suggested that I shift forwards into Warwick." Syndra grimaced. "Yes, that did hurt. A lot. And it happened at least four or five times in the span of thirty minutes. Mind you I was playing as a mage that game. So no healing back."

"You, playing as a mage? I'd love to see that. Such free wins I'd have," Syndra belittled him.

"Whatever. Do you by any chance know the time, Syndra?

"Sovereign," she corrected him, still smiling.

"All right, Sovereign. Must I kiss your hand too, as a sign of deference?"

"Actually, now that you say it, that would be really nice."

She put her hand close to him, then in his hand. Ezreal brought it towards him, thought her nails were really beautiful, and as his lips brushed the back of her hand, she felt uncharacteristically ticklish. Then she couldn't hold it in anymore and laughed heartily, a barely restrained laugh that would possibly be noticed in the other parts of the library.

"Could you please tell me the time, Sovereign?" She shook her head. "Pretty please?"

"If you insist... It's time for you to have a tea at my place o'clock."

"I have matches early tomorrow. I actually need to get some sleep to keep myself on tip-top shape. Besides, what will the Piltovians say? And the demacians?"

"To hezmana with them. Lime?"

"That I'll accept. You lead the way. Besides, I'm really quite tired, not just because of that Noxian bitch but also because I'm genuinely tired. Taking home the money is quite hard nowadays, Zaun is learning."

"You're bold," she said, tapping his nose with a single finger.

"Lime, remember?"

"Yes. We have to sleep."

They barely made it outside the library without bursting into laughter. Then they raced each other to the end of the hallway leading to the library, and beyond, laughing all the while. Nasus observed them, relieved, until the columns blocked his sight of them. He had just finished piling all of the papers each in their right place, and was about ready to go join the party downstairs. Of what Ezreal was doing with a person as dangerous as Syndra, he had no idea, but at least he could see their minds were now clear. Especially Ezreal. As the curator of the archives, it was his duty to report to the High Councilor any and all incident that happened in the library. Draven had seen the pair of them sprint outside, and the jackal-ascended didn't like it at all.  
He'd have to tell them LeBlanc was on the move again.


	3. You're mine

**Chapter 3. What's to drink is seldom the point.**

Ezreal crossed the threshold first. Syndra's apartment was completely dark at those hours of the night, his gauntlet being the only, if faint, light in sight. Apart from the occasional lightning that made its way through the windows, that is, but those served more as a distraction than anything else. He heard a particularly loud thunderclap, then he heard the door closing, a deep rumble to a deep rumble. Then she flicked on a hextech lamp, its orange light barely enough to reveal a table, with a few chairs and a small couch being set. Then he noticed the floor was wooden, quite a strange thing in the building.

"Syndra," he said, "do all houses in Ionia have a wooden floor? Is that a cultural custom?"

"Yes, it is. Now now, we wouldn't want to bring all the earth in here, would we?" she said in mock disapproval. "Tell me Ezreal, can you fly?"

"I can shift, if that's good enough, but I can't... Did I hear you alright?" Ezreal turned around, saw she was grinning mischievously. "Are you gonna... WHOA!"

She made a little gesture with her hand, and then his stomach lurched upwards. Like birds, they were flying, soaring statically in the dark place. Except he was tumbling about as much as he was floating. But still, he didn't feel as bad as he thought he would, for her magic was just caressing him gently. He would have bet a hundred royals that the minions wouldn't feel so before dying a splat on the ground.

"See? Ab-so-lute control," she said, syllable by syllable, which made him laugh. "I figured out you'd like a nice warm shower while I get the show on the road, so I am showing you there."

"Whoa, thank you." Now that she'd said it, he could feel the sand that had made its way into his shirt, the sweat drenching his body, his armpits, and he was grateful. He also felt funny, a little bit anxious even. The Dark Sovereign was so human to him, so alive, so normal, it was very hard to believe the stories that were told about her, even if he knew some of them to be true. That's a thing he stored in his head for later: he didn't know much at all about her.

As soon as it had began, it was over. He felt his feet touch the ground again, and he knew he was free from her magic. The door to the bathroom was then opened to him, and what he saw inside didn't disappoint him at all. The walls were made of what looked to be slate, although most of their length was covered by purple curtains, towels, and bathrobes. There was also purple soap on the sink, and a purple lotus made of glass. Everything seemed to be purple, except for the softly flickering orange light of the hextech candles.

"It's a shame that there isn't a private pool in here... and it's all kind of small..." Syndra started saying, but Ezreal shushed her.

"This is amazing!" he said, looking at her intently. "It really is, Syndra. Just like..."

"Oh, but who is going all mushy-mushy now?" she pouted, tapped his nose again. "But I really appreciate it. Oh, and use one of my bathrobes when you're done, I'm pretty sure they'll fit." Then she turned around, letting him get a nice view of her flowing white hair. "One last thing, and hear me out: mind the hot water, you could very easily burn yourself if you aren't careful."

"Thanks for the pro tip, Sovereign," he tried to make the last word as charming as he could, and it got the desired result. She curled in on herself without turning around, popped her foot and let out a brief giggle. He could almost see she was beetroot red. She then closed the door on him and went to do her business.

* * *

The fire was lit and kindled, the water almost at the point of boiling. She had now ten minutes to come to terms with her past. At least to condense it enough, to establish a curve through it, that she could explain it to him without bursting out in anger, grief or other such uncontrolled emotions. She had thought about him more than once, in the most diverse ways, for he was fascinating. In his books she saw a thoughtful yet witty person, and meeting him in person was a bit like a dream come true. And she'd already had a tour in his head to boot.

He'd come to her under the Deceiver's spell. At first she had forced herself not to notice him, then she realised that she had the perfect opportunity. It was almost like a Demacian knightly romance, except it had been the girl who rescued the boy from the big bad dragon. Whoa, did she just think of the Deceiver as an ugly reptile? She is quite easy on the eyes, but the evil connotations do suit her perfectly. And then, when he was well, he'd interested himself for her! To hezmana with you Lux!

No, she did like Lux too. She was just as easy-going as her Ezreal... "Heh, okay, my Ezreal, now that was forward," she said to herself in a whisper ...but she hadn't gotten around to show her yet. Yes she acted aloof with Demacians, that prissy lot of white-knights! Especially Garen, how could he not tell that Katarina was so into him! What an...

Alright Syndra, gather your thoughts. What must you say and what you mustn't say, she thought. She had a momentary flashback, of her mother kissing her on the cheek and propping her up in a tree swing. She grew in a rural area, away from the bustling streets and political affairs, but then Noxus attacked the village and she had to leave for the city, under the custody of an Elder, with a note that they'd have her back when they were done rebuilding. Thinking back, her village was fortunate to have survived at all.

Then, when did everything go downhill? Clearly well before she killed her master. She could vaguely remember something about a certain Drupada... better abandon that train of thought and start pouring the leaves into the water. She opened a drawer, got her teapot, then some green tea, grown in the very gardens downstairs, and poured the water and the tea in it. Drinking lime was just a waste of time, it would automatically ruin the moment. He was tired enough, the last thing she needed is for him to fall asleep right away. Though that would be cute.

How would she tell him she killed her master? Was that even salvageable? Because she knew his questions would be piercing. Then she realized she was still wearing outside clothes, so she got herself to the bedroom in a flash, and slipped in a comfy silken nightgown instead. Then back to tea, and back to thinking. Hiruto had been dampening her power, he thought he was doing it for her own good, without realizing that, to her, it was almost like having her limbs cut off. And the sudden realization thereof... she couldn't control herself back then.

The worst part about it all, is that she still felt self-conscious of her power, even if she wouldn't admit it to anyone. The tea was about ready, she put the mats on the table, then the teacups, then effort in preventing her teeth from chattering. She lightly knocked on the door, as if second-guessing herself. No response. She knocked again, this time a little bit stronger, then her mood flipped over completely and she quite literally started slamming the door with her right fist. Ezreal noticed, no, _had to notice_ this time around, as would probably the rest of the Ionian wing.

"Is everything ready? Already? Wow you're fast!" said his voice from the inside.

She cringed a moment. If he'd left her bathroom like... no, he wasn't a slob. Don't think that, you fool! "Yes it is. How'd you like the bath?"

"So very nice of you. Now I look ridiculous, in a purple woman's bathrobe, but it's better than nothing I reckon."

She giggled again, said: "Then all the better for me to laugh at. May I open the door?"

"Just a second, I'm still somewhat wet. Just you wait."

Syndra almost had her wind knocked out of her by the gasping laughter that ensued. That had struck a nerve. You're wet you say? What a woman! Then she realized that it also could apply to herself, and had to struggle not to fall to the floor. She told him between gasps that the tea was ready, before taking her place to the right of the couch, sprawling all over it, yawned and stretched her back over the armrest, letting her arms hang. She closed her eyes and smiled. Right now if it weren't for the white hair nobody would think she was Syndra, the Dark...

"Sovereign, could you please make room for my humble self in your excellent couch?"

She didn't move at all. Then he tickled her feet, causing her to laugh like a little girl. "Aw, meanie. That's no fair!"

She let him sit, then put her feet back where they had just been. She was savoring the moment, and wanted to relax for just a little longer.

* * *

Ezreal had been asking her about herself. She was fascinating too, in her own way, and Ezreal had to admit that she was one of the most balanced persons her age he had ever come across. Despite her reputation, for everyone painted her as a time bomb, but to him, she really was. Despite herself.

"Ionian elders... so many years wasted in pursuit of a contradiction," she explained, then took a sip of her tea. "If the world was in balance, nothing would ever change. Striving for their embetterment, and for balance at the same time. If the world were in balance, water wouldn't flow through the rivers, there wouldn't be waves in the ocean, there wouldn't be light or dark. And yes the world might end in balance, that I'll admit, but unless they want to bring the final act before it's due, I'd say they want to control the flow more than anything. To make the world do their bidding."

Ezreal opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it back shut. "That is definitely not what people think about you. They only see a self-absorbed, narcissistic, immature teenager with way too much power. You don't know how glad I am to know it's nothing like this, Syndra. I had never stopped to think of balance like this. Or of balance at all. I had always taken the Ionian Elders for good listeners, but I don't think they are any better than Piltovian heirs now."

"No, now you're simply putting me in a podium, which is inexcusable," she said. "Of course there are good listeners among their ranks, such as Karma. Poor woman, what she's had to go through, in part thanks to me." She paused a second, stifled her nascent tears. "She's taught me more than anyone else ever has, but it was too late. Too late for poor Hiruto. Too late for Irelia. Too late for the whole of Ionia. You know what they say of me, that I think that might makes right."

"Power belongs to those who can wield it. Heard it before," he mused, as much to her as to himself.

"This sentence. Only recently have I begun to understand myself. It's acquired a meaning completely different than the one I originally gave it. It's a great motto, but for all the wrong reasons."

"Tell me then. Talking helps. Your world has so far been way more fascinating than the Shuriman Empire at the height of its glory, and I mean it," he said. "As an explorer, I've bumped into many beautiful little corners, ibons in the highest mountains, waterfalls in the desert, yet none as unexpected as the one I've just landed in."

"Yes, I know talking helps. I wish I'd known sooner." She wiped her eyes. "But it's still hard to accept, it's still searing hot wounds."

"Don't stop, but don't hurry either. Caitlyn can stand in for me tomorrow, after all she's way rustier than I am."

"You'll get tired too, eventually. Though it's still very nice of you," she murmured, a fleeting smile gracing her features. She opened her eyes fully, they were bright and wide. "I need a moment to gather my thoughts again, Ezreal."

"As long as you need to, and not a second less," he told her. He truly was listening intently. Was he falling for her? Definitely. He was determined to give her an outlet, for he knew how hard it was. The only difference between them was, he happened to have a pair of loving parents back in Piltover at the time.

Syndra downed what has left in her cup in a single swipe, filled it up, gulped the entire thing down straight away, refilled it again, and only then did she leave it be. He was right, she had to let it out, and she wasn't about to throw her chance away. However, she needed to steel herself for what was to come. The murders. Hiruto. The floating temple. Just as she'd pushed the boundaries of her magic back then, now she'd have to push the boundaries of her resolve and her emotional strength. She knew the reward was worth it, so she wiped her tears again, sucked it up, sat straight and swallowed. _I WILL DO IT_.

"Where'd I begin... Ah, I already mentioned Hiruto, haven't I? Well... he was my master for four years. He was supposed to show me restraint, a noble mission if you ask me, but he was not prepared. He'd place a damp into my powers, so that I didn't pose a threat to him. The coward!" she snorted, anger from years long past rushing to her skin as if now was then. "Then that fool told me, and he managed to break the spell because of it. I told him to get lost, but he wouldn't listen, so I pulled him away from me. In the rush of my newfound power..."

Ezreal took her hand in his, encouraging her to spill it out. She smiled at him weakly, she looked way more tired than he did. And rightfully so, letting out old blood was never easy. He wanted to hug her forever, but knew it would be counterproductive.

"I didn't quite know what I was doing, I let wrath take the reins, and what was supposed to be a hard shove ended up leaving him a splat on the wall, along with the furniture around us. There was never any body to show them..." she paused for a few seconds, tried hard for her voice not to break. "I was one week, two weeks alone. I didn't want to eat, didn't want to live as the realization of what I'd just done slowly sunk in. Until Karma came to check in on us."

She started crying overtly at that point. She wanted to stop, but she hadn't enough force left in her to actually do so. "She saw the mess. She screamed. Then she found me, she played it cool, told me it would be alright. All would be alright." Pause. "Why is my strength failing me now, just now? She brought me to the elders, yes, the elders, and Elder Yamajima told her I was to be burned. She told me I was to be burned. I snapped."

Ezreal took a sip from his cup. He was discovering the Dark Sovereign was but a construct, a defense, and that beneath lay but a woman whose past weighed her down. No wonder she felt so very much alive to him. He looked her in the eye, telling her as much. Because she _was_.

With great difficulty, she stopped crying "I snapped on Karma. Thank the Twin Serpents for letting me being here now, as I am, for letting her live. But I can't do it anymore, Ezreal. Not now."

Syndra smiled again, a weak smile, the most precious smile he'd ever seen. Ten thousand million times better than Lux's. Because unlike her, she never really told anything of great value, or of herself for that matter. Then it dawned on him, he hurried to ask her: "One last thing, Syndra, and I promise it's the last I'll ask of you."

"Go ahead, if it helps you," she said, still smiling.

"How old was Master Hiruto when you met him?"

She staggered, her face snapped back to having no expression. Her eyes snapped shut. "I don't know. But he definitely wasn't over 30. Why?"

Now he really knew. "Syndra, I'm about to say something crazy, but please hear me out. Will you?" When she didn't answer, then it was he realized they were almost touching. Syndra laid her head on his shoulder as if on cue. "I don't know, I've just had a flash, but in me eyes you're not to blame for Master Hiruto's death."

"I am."

"I mean-"

"But I will listen to you," she said, her voice not much stronger than a river in summer, the last water flowing through her throat. Like the sound of leaves in the stilling winds of autumn against his ear.

"It wasn't you who killed Master Hiruto."

"Who then?" Quiet, rich in tones.

"His own master in turn." Syndra gasped, an insignificant sound lost in the storm outside, a sound that made it to his ears nevertheless. "For he didn't teach him that the youth was dangerous not from the immense power therein, but from lack of love and lack of understanding. He thought that by restraining your magic he would teach you restraint, and that's what got him killed. And by the time he realized his error, the harm was already done."

It was said. If he had ruined the evening, it had been now. However, no sound came from her at all, which he took as his cue to drop the gravestone.

"It was sad that his success cost him his life. I'm sure I would have liked talking with Master Hiruto a lot. It was too late for him to see it himself, but in the end he's taught you restraint. He gave up his life to save yours. Next time he surfaces in your memories, bow to him and recognize him as the great man he was. Tell him what I've just told you. I'm sure he'll see that you are a great woman, that he will bow back to you and thank you immensely for forgiving him before walking away a happy man."

Still no sound came from her. She had closed her eyes, for she was seeing Ezreal in a whole new light. She thought him immature, but oh how she had misjudged him. She thought him a pretty boy for a few nights of play and games, a pretty boy with a way for words, and it almost pained her to recognize she couldn't have been more wrong. He was a pretty boy, but on the inside he was wise beyond his years. She didn't want to open her eyes for fear that it had all been a dream, but tears had found her way out of her. Tears of joy, of knowing that she'd found someone who could help her get over her hurdles. It had been time ago that she learned that not everything was about raw power, it had been time ago that she had realized that her power felt empty, but he was the one who made her face it and accept it.

The one who made her come to terms with her past.

* * *

"Ezreal, please," she murmured in his ear. To her utmost lack of surprise, he had been sleeping. How long had it been? The thunderstorm outside had dissipated, leaving the way for gentle winds to carry the scent of wet earth to her nose and make her shiver. How long had she been crying on his shoulder? With all the care in the world, she reached for the teapot. Stone cold, much to her dismay. What time was it even? But even the slightest rustle had been enough to wake him up.

"Ughh... what time is it? Oh, sorry, I fell asleep."

"Please... come with me. Will you?"

Ezreal rubbed his eyes. Then he realized he still was in Syndra's place. Perfectly safe and sound. "Where to?" he said, his voice raspy from thirst and disuse.

"To bed. It is four o'clock in the night." She had just remembered to look at the grandfather clock to her right

"Mh, why not? It's cold in here," he said. "You tell me where to, I help you. You must be tired. Lean on me."

Slowly, far more slowly than they wanted, they made their way over to her bedroom. Ezreal was quite surprised to find that she had it sandwiched between two pieces of wood, as if not to fall out during the course of the night. He carefully propped her on the very middle, took the robes from underneath her and left her warmly cocooned before switching the lights off and heading back to the couch, deciding it was way too cold in the main room, and settling for a corner near where she was.

"I am not worthy of you, Ezreal, am I?" she murmured. The house was silent enough that he could hear her.

"You are worth every second I spent with you, every one I ever will, ten thousand times. And it still falls short. Anything will." And he meant it.

"Please sleep with me. Take me out from my nightmares."

Ezreal rose to his feet with a sleepy groan, felt his way in the dark. At one point she laughed a little laugh, meaning he must have touched her feet. He took that as his cue to go inwards into the wall, into the bed. It was only then he realized he was completely nude save for the bathrobe which was freezing him alive. He got in, in such a way that he wouldn't do anything inappropriate by accident.

"Good night, Sovereign," he said. To his utmost surprise, she turned him around and planted a light kiss on his lips.

"Don't feel embarrassed. It is normal. It just happens. Let it happen and enjoy it with all six senses. Goodnight, sage whom I'll never forget."

Before he fell asleep once more, he turned so as to look at the ceiling. The wind quieted completely, and another, gentler storm swept over the Institute. Ezreal listened intently, heard her even breathing, her belly gurgling, the sound her feet made across the sheets, her slow heartbeat, heard the rain, felt her warmth, her breast spilling over on his arm, the silky sheets, the light brush she'd made against him every time he moved, and took in the scent of wet earth, that of her hair...

* * *

 **THE RAMBLE CORNER:**

Hello to you and thanks for following this fanfic! It really means much to me, shows me that I am an absolute dumbass for not taking the plunge earlier. I don't know if it's the same all over, but reading and *gasp!* writing fanfic does carry a certain stigma in the circles I move in. As does having a man pour down his feelings over a stupid game, but I know that the last one's more of a global phenomenon. Whaddya think, doing the fuck them all feels good.

On to more O _ut of mind, Out of sight_ related rambling.

First of all, I say in advance that this story isn't labeled as Horror because of the main EzrealxSyndra relationship. Why I say this even though it may be a little bit of a spoiler, is that I am honestly sick and tired of the thousands of fantasies about abusive relationships, although that's not to say there isn't any that I enjoyed reading ( _Fragile_ comes to mind, that fic is seriously awesome) or that all of them are inherently bad.

Also, and related to the point above, I feel that most of the romance fics on just about anything depict what to me seem highly dysfunctional relationships. Again, I'm not saying that to criticize anyone, after all everyone should be free to write about whatever the fuck he wants, it's just to ask you guys that if you find that it's becoming the case with this fiction, you tell me right away. I for one don't want to step on it, but being a poor writer as I know I am, I will eventually do so.

Second, there's two reasons that come to mind as to why I paired Ezreal with Syndra. First off and most important is that they are the two characters I absolutely enjoy the most playing (yes I queue for mid/adc most often) and also because I'm bored of Zed. Not because he is a bad character per se, just because he is picked/banned in about every game and honestly I don't enjoy playing as him all that much.

That out of the way, I also want to say to you that this is not intended to be an alternate continuity Syndra. Before you complain that Syndra is just an evil personification of YASSS UNLIMITED POWWAH hear me out.

[rant]

Syndra was introduced to League in early 2012 if my memory isn't failing me. I like to think that when she entered the Fields of Justice for the first time she was this power-hungry bitch we all know and love. But, and that's a long but:

2016 – 2012 = 4. So you're telling me that in FOUR FUCKING YEARS(actually more) she's had no character development at all? RITO PLS!1! NERF IRELIA!

Because frell Irelia. I flat out REFUSE to believe that Syndra has had no character development whatsoever in all this time. And from her lore I think that most of what she did to Ionia, they had it coming. Because they've been some serious dumbasses as of late. I mean, working with the likes of Jhin? Are you serious now? (he's my second favourite ADC by the way, and an alright character overall). I like to assume of most people that they aren't completely nuts, regardless of their power level. Having truckloads of money/magical-power ain't no excuse for being an asshole to everyone around you and not get your comeuppance. So either Syndra went off the deep end and was executed/destroyed the League/whatever bad or she didn't, and I went in on the second case.

Because Syndra is my main and she's been banned enough as of late. Hell yeah. She really needs some love if you ask me, so Ezreal gave her some.

[/rant]

Anyway guys thank you so much for bearing with me. To you I say: see you tomorrow!


	4. Just die already

**Chapter 4. The bad guys always target he who is alone.**

Ezreal had to be very fast. He was late for the first match. He hadn't had breakfast, or anything, for he had woken up at four in the afternoon. He'd left her with a quick peck on the lips and a hopeful smile, a smile which he'd come to love. He'd given her a last look, then she materialized her orbs and lightly bopped him on the back with them, urged him to go on. He'd silently thank her for the encouragement and flew past the door.

It was a hot summer day, but he didn't care. He couldn't care. The match, the all-important match! He still had to fix himself something to eat, get changed into his Debonair suit, fill out the form to request an audience with Karma, go over to Lux's, and meet his compatriots for what could be the winning battle against Zaun. Dust flew all around him, dust picked up by searing hot winds that would blow it onto his skin. His face was being covered by a fine-grained mud by the second, his clothes started to stick to him. What would the match be? Did he have to face the psycho again? Would he have to buy an Iceborn Gauntlet just to keep Mundo at bay? There were many open questions, but he had to think, and he didn't have time to. He conjured her visage in his head, he knew she'd give him the power he needed, her smile...

He had bumped onto something soft in his mad dash. He turned his head back, only to see a pissed off Gragas glaring at him. "Hey kid, what do ya think y'are doin'?"

He stopped for a second. "Sorry Gragas. I wasn't looking where I was running. Are you alright?"

"Me, alright? I was half expecting you to hurt yourself, runnin' in a busy street like that! Lucky you you didn't made me spill this here cask, or you'd have to pay fo' it – and," his voice became a rumbling bass "lemme tell ya, you'dn't like it at all kiddo."

"So what? Do we have to make a drama of it all, in the middle of the road?" Ezreal said defiantly, trying not to appear frightened. But he didn't make a good impression at all.

"Damn right we have to! Y'are getting off mighty light now, but next time I'm goin'a mop the floor with ya. Now get gone before I change mah' mind."

Ezreal shifted out of there, continued running towards the Piltovian wing. It had been such bad luck having bumped into Gragas of all people. Why did it always have to go like this? Still, nothing had really happened, so he was grateful for that. Then he kept running, dust lined the pavement, summoners crossing left and right, not letting him go as fast as he'd want to. And the double doors to the grand hall of Piltover in the Institute were locked fast. He caught his wind and shifted to them. To his utmost surprise, he found that behind the doors there were more summoners going back and forth than he could count. He tried making his way through them, trickling like a drop of water into a tide of stones, trying to reach its natural state of balance. It was ironic how he had just come from such bliss. But he wasn't advancing any faster. Snorting, he waited in line for the summoners to make it out of the hall, and go into the courtyard. Then it dawned it on him why could there be so many summoners in Piltover's grounds.

Caitlyn. They had to be here to talk to the Sheriff, and that could mean nothing good. Was someone dead again? Last time it had been a Noxian Summoner, but there had been no apparent culprit for what had very obviously been a murder. Only someone going by the name of "C."

And bingo, there she was, on a table outside with Vi and Jayce, filling in what looked to be unending stacks of paperwork. The High Councillor, Vessaria Kolminye, had two assistants who carried a stack of papers and stamps. Apparently something very important had happened, for he had never seen such huge turmoil, not even for a murder case. What could be worse than murdering a summoner in cold blood?

"Hey Ezreal! Took you long enough to show up," Vi said. You weren't there at the party, what happened? I was quite drunk you see, but it sure was a blast! You should have seen the police officer dance on her miniskirt; she's a natural!"

"Vi, don't be so naïve," Jayce said from the other side of the table. Caitlyn glowered at him as she handed over yet another signed paper to the High Councillor. "What? Sheriff, I am of the opinion everyone has to take a break from time to time."

"Yeah," Vi assented. "We have to be filling papers, what for? Nothing happened yesterday unless I've gone full on crazy."

"Well you slackers. We don't know yet," she snapped. "We never will unless you get to work. But one thing's sure. Luxanna Crownguard is dead, murdered, and _somebody's_ responsible."

Ezreal gasped, whooping. That explained everything.

"Oh, and Vi," Jayce said, ignoring Caitlyn to the best of his ability, "didn't you see how he left in a hurry yesterday?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I kinda did," Vi cocked her head side to side, as if thinking hard. "Oh, I know what you mean. But isn't he too young for that?"

"Heh, no, he isn't, that's what I'm saying," Jayce answered. "Not to say there would be many who would think him so, but you of all people? Ha! I thought you had a better eye than me for this type of things."

Caitlyn rose from her chair, huffing. "You two stop chatting. Now since you seem unable or unwilling to fill in the forms for Demacia, I suggest that you start interrogating..." she looked Ezreal in the eye "...this most pretty boy. Tear as much information from him as you can."

"It will be _my_ pleasure, Sheriff," Vi said, cracked her fists, then her neck.

"So," Jayce put his gloves on, "tell me, have you been up with anything good this night?"

Ezreal found himself in an unlikely predicament. He assessed his options, looked behind himself, searching for escape routes in case something went sour.

"Well, what do you mean? You guys just told me that Lux was dead, murdered, and that somebody must be responsible for it. I had absolutely no idea before. Look, I woke up at almost one o'clock and-"

"Why'd you sleep till that late?" Jayce inquired. "Was our match that tiring? Oh boy, how disappointed must she have been after the deed. We might have to ask Sivir to stand in for you if you are finished that quickly."

"Jayce, what a pussy," Vi intervened, shoved him aside. "This one's got written 'murderer' all over his face." Ezreal took half a step back. Vi took a whole step forward. "I say we arrest him and throw him to the lions' den."

"No, he can't have killed her. He loved her till the ends of the earth, and you know it. Besides, what would possibly be the mobile of such a crime?" Jayce said. "Besides, she was killed by art of magic, so we should be able to get hexprints from all over the scene anyway."

"No." Vi grabbed Ezreal forcefully. "I am not going to play the part of the good cop now. I am not going to fool around with words," she said, rattling him about. "Where. The. Fuck. Were you last night?"

"Asking with whom would be far more productive... if you know what I mean..."

"Jayce. Jayce!" She sneered at them, grabbed Jayce by his collar. "I swear that, either you let me get the answers from him, or you're going to receive the full, special, treatment from these two guns. Your choice."

Ezreal was annoyed with, and even scared of Vi. He knew she was being serious. Jayce back down, let her do whatever, find nothing, watch her anger disperse. Jayce back down, let her do whatever, find nothing, watch her anger disperse. But, idea! Yeah, if they started fighting among themselves, he had a chance.

"So," he said, "you guys wanna know whom I was fucking last night? I'll even give you the exclusive if you play real nice."

"Yes!" Vi yapped, let go of them and tilted her head. "Yes, yes yes yes yes yes! Hooray for you! You finally made it with a proper woman! Hey Cait, we have to buy fireworks one of these days, pretty boy did it! Ohh don't keep me waiting, please Ezzy pleaseeee!"

Jayce simply nodded, a triumphant smirk on his face. "You're the man! Whom should we be thankful to for it?"

Caitlyn looked at them from her desk. "Any progress with Ezreal? I think I am almost finished with the paperwork." As if on cue, Vessaria's assistant got the papers which had already been filled in, then the other one produced an identical stack and banged it down in front of the sheriff, causing her to snort in frustration.

Vi made a puppy face. "Yes, yes, he's about to tell us whom he was with last night. We've got it almost done! He'll tell me! Then we'll have pizza!"

"Come on, man, tell us. Can't have been that bad, or was it?"

"Yeah come on! We're all ears!"

"Ummm, let me think... ahh... nope," Ezreal said. He always played hard to get with his fellow Piltovian champions, as it was way too easy to mess with them. Especially Vi, she was so predictable.

"Aw don't be a tease. Or, are you lying to us?" Jayce said, smiling, admitting defeat.

However the Enforcer wasn't about to give up.

Instead, she grabbed him bridal style. Then she threw him towards where Caitlyn was. Which caused him to latch onto the desk, sending it and him flying towards the Sheriff at breakneck speed. The set of blond and wooden table spun over completely as a single unit before touching the floor. Caitlyn jumped backwards, fell from her chair. He was showered in papers freshly stamped with the Demacian Royal sigil, that is, the Lightshields'. His wind had been knocked from the sheer force of the impact, and before he could recover a very angry Caitlyn stomped over to where he was, tapping her foot as if waiting him to wake up.

"Good job, you found the culprit. Now, you, pretty boy, freeze. You are under arrest." She stared at him. "Do you have any idea of how much trouble you're in now?"

Still reeling from the crash, Ezreal couldn't think of anything. "No, I don't."

"Hmm, let's see: assaulting a police officer, theft of police property, interfering with policial function, and two counts of second degree murder. That amounts to 13 Royals 50. Cash or credits?"

His head hurt like hell. "Caitlyn, what the fuck? You're making no sense, nothing here is making any sense. Am I supposed to believe you? Is it how you normally work?" He stood up to his full height, even as his leg shot a flare of pain up his back. "You're acting on zero proof whatsoever. Hell, it was Vi who threw me here."

"And I'd do it again," she shouted from the distance, her arms smugly crossed.

"Do you realize there are too many summoners going back and around? There aren't that many in the whole institute. Also, look up, the sky is pink!" He strolled in a circle. "I don't like this sand. It's coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere, and you shouldn't find it smack in the middle of the Institute. Which means that I've probably been here before. I wonder if I..."

"Can escape? Hardly. You have the right to silence and are entitled to a silent attorney, and you can call ONE witness. I recommend 77-double-42-SYNDRA. Do you understand those rights as I've explained them to you?"

"No. I understand no-"

The Sheriff stamped on the ground with her right boot a few times. "Then I can't arrest you!"

"Hey, you're nice. Before I go-"

But Caitlyn wasn't finished talking: "I can't arrest you. Which means I'll have to shoot you down on the spot, and declare you collateral damage. It was nice knowing you Ezreal."

Ezreal chuckled. "Alright, Sheriff, before you carry out legal procedures, I'd please beg of you to let me call for my girl in the crowd. See if I can help you with your investigation. Because I know who might have killed Lux, just you wait a second. Ahh, let me concentrate, this is going to hurt."

He knew he was ready, and he knew he was about to be in great pain shortly. She'd failed once, and he knew she never failed twice. But he was going to try anyway.

"HELLO, EVAINE LEBLANC, I'VE MISSED YOU MY LOVE!" He panted, his breath was becoming shallower by the minute, but he wasn't about to show it to her. "WHY DON'T YOU COME OUT, AND CHAT A LITTLE CHAT?"

"Go on, Caitlyn," said Vi. "Kill him. Then we'll go get naked at the beach, and we'll have pizza and margarita shooters."

"Come out come out, whe-re-ver you are!" he said, trying to muster as much bravado as he could. "Are you afraid maybe? You shouldn't be afraid. Am I not at your mercy right now? Is it such a terrible exercise, to talk with a man whom is about to be shot dead without trial, without a care in the world, by his very friends who loved him until his very last day? Or maybe you can't come out because someone else is after you in turn."

"Love you? I wouldn't say so. I for one have just been jealous of you getting all the fine ladies. But this is to be no more," Jayce said, his face a twisted smile. "This is what you get for keeping me in a dry spell for all those years."

Vi was the next one to talk. "Yeah, yeah! What he said. Leaving no ladies for us, what'd you expect? Get dumpstered kid."

"And, Caitlyn, do you not appreciate me at least a little bit? Providing knowledge of history to Piltover and Piltover only? Making easy to read, hooking, books which keep people pacified?" She shook her head. "No, nothing?"

"Where were you when we tried to catch Jinx before she razed a whole half of the town to the ground? And you call yourself a good citizen of Piltover!" She spat on the floor, stepped back from him. "Your shifts would have been most useful to catch her out. Instead, you decided to go exploring some silly ruins instead of being the hero everyone makes you out to be. You're despicable."

Caitlyn grabbed her rifle. He tried to escape, but he was frozen in place. He couldn't move. His heartbeat quickened. Sweat seeped from his skin, trickled across the sides of his face, drenched his clothes. Is this how he was going to die? Caitlyn began taking aim, a red dot appearing over where his heart lay. He tried to shift away, but much to his dismay he realized that he wasn't wearing his gauntlet. He tried to breathe, but it got stuck in his throat. Tears welled from his eyes. She'd give him strength, he must not forget. But even that was denied from him. He saw perfectly clearly, the lenses on the Sheriff's rifle lining up. Vi eating a cracker. Jayce supporting himself on her, grinning like the moron he was and raising his thumbs. A photo-op now? Who had a camera? Ezreal turned his head as much as he could, in both directions, but could see no one. The mass of summoners had also retreated to their filthy dens, afraid of having Caitlyn's bullet penetrate past him and lodge itself in their posteriors. Everything was denied from him, everything that was not directly related to his impending death. He allowed himself his last words, if she would kill him, he'd end it with a blaze of defiance.

"ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED, DECEIVER? I'M BREAKING, MY MIND'S BREAKING. IS THIS NOT WHY YOU'RE HERE?"

Then a loud bang. Caitlyn fired, the impact sending both her and Ezreal tumbling backwards. Scarlet drops filled the air before him, contrasting against the white clouds in a pink sky. He fell with a thud, his head raising a ring of dust on impact. Even it moved away from him. Only one thing had loved him, and for a way too brief time. But he was still alive, even through the nagging pain in his chest.

He tried to raise his voice. It came out weak, but still audible. "Messing with my head isn't going to kill me, isn't it? Because I don't believe this is real... I don't believe this is how I end."

Only then did Leblanc care to appear. He noticed his head was right next to her foot. Her form loomed above him. She stomped down on his left shoulder, said: "Everything you said when you were begging was quite correct I'm afraid. It's a pity I can't keep you for longer, you'd make such a nice partner but alas, I must end this quickly now. You are at my mercy, of which I'm sure you know me to be always out of. Your mind's breaking. Let it give way, let it take you away from the pain. Easy now, close your eyes, close your eyes..."

Ezreal felt his conscious mind waver. Black dots were starting to frolic before him, acquiring impossible shapes, grotesque contours. Drawing their movement would be most interesting, if it weren't because he was dying with nobody to call out to. The pink sky flickered out of existence. He felt his eyes close, he felt dizzy, pain of both the bullet wound and Leblanc's heel pressing on his left shoulder threatening to overtake him.

"I... I can't believe I'll end like this..."Ezreal said, with the last of his voice. "Don't sleep, Ezreal... Don't sleep... Don't sleep! Focus!"

"Who cares, what you believe?" Leblanc spat, thoroughly annoyed. Her saliva found a way into his eyes, further distorting what little vision he had. "In about thirty seconds, you'll be dead. Then I'll blow this place up and be home in time for dinner."

Someone came over and trampled over his left arm, breaking most of the bones in it. The black dots started crowding together, his vision was denied from him. What next?

Clearly not sound. "Why is he still alive, Caitlyn? He shouldn't be alive. It vexes me. I'm terribly vexed."

Then his consciousness faded. A voice slowly rose over all the others. It was not Leblanc's.

* * *

"Ezreal, don't sleep! Focus! Don't sleep! You must not sleep!" He could finally understand the voice. It was beautiful. Very. "Ezreal! Hear me please! Don't let go! You must stand strong! Let me help you!"

Then he realized this voice wasn't the magic that threatened to kill him. Which meant that he wasn't dead. Yet.

"Move! Move! Find your inner strength, keep yourself alive. It's not worth killing yourself!"

Ezreal forced himself to gasp, he felt his blood rush to his head once more. He had been dreaming, and got immersed in it. That's all, that's all, it's all fine. Right? He couldn't tell whether he had woken up or not. He clutched his chest in desperation, finding it warm and wet from the blood that had seeped through the bullet wound. Was it even a dream? Had it ever been a dream? He could no longer tell. He brought his hand to his face once more, to smell his own blood one last time. But he found something soft in the way. Hair? It certainly smelt funny. Then he took notice of the woman sobbing right by his ear. He did know that voice from somewhere. It was not Caitlyn, and obviously not Vi. Or Lux, she had a deeper voice than the light mage. She had been killed, right?

Now he remembered. It was Syndra next to him. The almighty Sovereign, pitying over someone so insignificant as him. He'd fallen for the obvious deception, just how weak was he? But he survived. He heard himself chuckle at the thought, he bet his chips on it being her who saved him in the first place. She had broken the Deceiver's spell once, he knew she could do it all over again.

"Syndra," he said, still faintly, and with great effort. But nothing more was necessary.

"It's me. Don't worry, everything is alright."

"You're real, right?" Because he wasn't sure yet. Wheels within wheels...

"Yes, and don't you dare think I'm not!" She was feigning anger, he could tell from a mile away. But she must have her reasons for doing so, and so he heeded her orders. However, he couldn't be entirely sure. Perhaps ever?

"Then hold me, hold me fast, for I don't want you to go." Why again had she been so intent on saving his life? He felt her arms close tight around his upper chest, her breath washing over his right ear every time she exhaled.

"Nor do I want you to go. I almost didn't make it in time... I was making breakfast, next thing I know you're dying from a heart attack," she said.

He could have been like that forever. His muscles went limp, he relaxed beneath her watch. And it was blissful. He knew she would be there for him. Always. He knew that she'd be her guiding light – yes, even though she was labelled Dark Sovereign – from now on. He knew that, alone, he wouldn't survive before the Deceiver even one minute if she ever took interest in him again. But he also knew she had made her way into his heart, and that he would eventually die inside without her, Deceiver or not.

"It's sad, how those who don't have to fight their inner demons have to fight outer demons," she whispered at some point. "I don't even know how you'd let yourself be pulled in a place as wretched as here. You should be out there doing what you really like to do without a care in the world, but instead someone comes by and... this whole mess happens. Isn't it great?"

Her breath still rustling on his ear, her arms still holding him fast. He had once read that Ionians referred to his state as... what was the word? Whatever. He just wanted to never move. His eyes closed, he felt her kiss a little kiss on them. What she said, although radiant with idealistic candour, was also an implicit declaration of trust. She had just told not to fear anything, because she would be there to chase it away, and that she knew she wouldn't harm herself, not anymore. Squeezed tight in her embrace, he felt right at home.

But he had to tell her.

"Syndra, it wasn't a heart attack. It's feeling more happy than it ever has."

She said nothing, giggled softly, and kissed his cheek with immense care.

"It wasn't a heart attack. It was a... LeBlanc attack."

"Impossible," she snapped, let go of him more suddenly than either of them would have liked to. "There was no alien magic killing you. Only you," her voice grew sweeter, "my little sun, bright as ever."

"I'm telling you what I saw."

She pecked at his lips, two or three times. Then she hugged him once again.

"Alright, so my dream wasn't making any sort of sense right from the beginning. Apparently Lux had been murdered by someone else, and every Summoner had to go and watch Sheriff Caitlyn fill in paperwork in the middle of the Piltovian plaza, on a makeshift table."

"You're right. It makes no sense at all," she said teasingly. Then: "Oh, sorry, do carry on."

"Alright, so stuff happens and I start realizing that nothing made any sense anymore. Then it occurs to me that it is LeBlanc going back at it, and everything starts going from bad to worse. I try to call out her name, but nothing works. She doesn't appear, nor does anything good or bad , there was just an angry Vi and that jerk who calls himself Defender of Tomorrow. So I start to laugh at their ridiculous behavior, then... Bam! I get shot by Caitlyn right here," he touched the left part of his chest. "Then... Surprise! It was LeBlanc after all, she reveals herself, stomps on my left shoulder, then Vi... can I open my eyes?"

"I'm listening," she announced.

"I feel something wet on my hip... you are in the nude, aren't you? Anyway, I almost die in the dream, then I felt your voice. 'Don't sleep! Focus!' I said to myself, through you. Then I wake up here, take a good while to remember where I am, or who you are. Bad dream."

Then he put it in concepts he could understand.

"Open your eyes if you want. Why do you resist it?"

"Resisting what? Isn't it kind of perverted, that..."

Syndra shushed him. "So, you quite evidently died from your nightmare. Which leaves me divided. Do you want the good or the bad scenario first?"

"Doesn't matter. You're the expert, you tell me the facts."

"I've got two theories, none of which are very good. Still one is preferable to the other by an ocean's width."

Ezreal chuckled. "Quit stalling. I have to, we have to face it anyway. Please."

The last word brought a subtle smile to her face. "My hopes lie with Nocturne. If he has somehow freed himself, it could have been him who entered in your dream and twisted it into the most terrifying nightmare. He does kill through that, after all. Nothing more than fat luck."

"Wow, and that's the best case scenario? What's the bad one like then?"

"I almost wish you didn't ask. Because it would imply that I've terribly underestimated LeBlanc."

He felt his spirits fall through the floor. He was afraid of that. Why did she have to confess? Syndra, who had at some point progressed to a sitting position, noticed it and lied back down beside him, ran a hand through his chest, over his heart.

"Don't be afraid. Her magic can't withstand even a hundredth of my power, Ezreal. But her expertise and her cunning can. We can see through her illusions with the flick of a wrist, but the question remains on whether we can do it without you losing your sanity. And none of us can see through her manipulations. I might even be able to keep you safe, but what about everyone else? Lies can get much done, even without magic backing them up. Go figure what she might be capable off."

He tilted his head upwards, then opened his eyes to look at hers. "If you're out there, Nocturne, I hereby declare that I love you."

Syndra forcefully splayed out Ezreal's arms with her magic. She then made her way to his mouth, and started licking his lips, demanding entry, as she firmly latched herself onto his waist. He let her in.

* * *

 **THE RAMBLE CORNER:**

So yeah. Ramble time.

So I wanted to make this episode a little different. Although not much because I've taken SO GODDAMN LONG in writing this pile of dren, and I'm quite sleepy, so yeah, not ramble, raaaaamble (geddit? -_-)

Anyway, I wanted to bring up the Horror aspect of the fic up a notch. Because so far there's been some quirks on the first two chapters, but Leblanc has really done nothing too much apart from getting Syndra to see Ezreal's vulnerability and so get her interested in him as an equal. Because for all that fun, immense power, she's quite self-conscious and has quite a bit of inferiority complex. Well in my story at least. Then there was this sort of plot derailment-but-not-really with Syndra's past and their lovey-dovey antics, which isn't bad per se, but it's not the feel I'm going for. I'm not going to spoil anything. Would I lie?

Alright, so I also wanted to explore the possibilities of the interaction between silly comedy and pure, raw psychological horror. I'd like you guys to feel the romance while you read the fic, then get shocked with concern over them as you go to the fridge. This chapter is trying to set up a mood by remembering the audience that LeBlanc is still there and that she is still very much a threat to the protagonists. While also providing some breather material at the same time. I've also tried to cram in as many quotes from _Farscape_ and various unintentionally hilarious movies as I could fit without hurting the flow. If you're laughing at first, that's most likely intended.

Also, on my dislike for writing Zed x Syndra. I know I have no need to justify myself. It's more of a thesis of mine if you will. Relationships of that type would be a disaster of the biggest caliber, and that they have been popularized by the likes of _50 Shades of Grey_. [rant] So let me get this straight: I hate that book with all of my heart. Is it poorly written? To me, quite. But that's not the culprit. I hate it so much because I feel we live in a state of sexual repression of enough magnitude that this book having gone viral can actually spell disaster for those of us who do enjoy safe, sane and consensual. I mean, who the fuck is even allowed to talk about it to youths? It's only logical that adolescents will strive to imitate what they see, and if the only references they have are those, well you get the idea. So yeah, it's more of a circumstantial hate, but it's still fucking there.[/rant]

Back to Zed himself. To me he is an irredeemable fool that has a few blades too many (just like Akali btw) and would drive Syndra down the wrong path. And to me, writing a story that could be summarised as: _There was a frightening union / A_ _ninja __and his gun / They sought to seize them / And murder just for fun_ doesn't sound appealing at all. Now if Zed was really the good guy, like Redmercy once theorized, that might end a little bit differently, and would certainly be far more interesting, but he doesn't really strike me as that kind of guy.

So ramble I did huh? See you next update!


	5. Are you sure?

**Chapter 5. Labour of love of deceit.**

Syndra was all over him, had been all over him for some time now. He had been able to sway her out of doing it just yet, but he knew he wouldn't be able to resist forever. Right now she was half sitting on his chest, her thighs giving him very little room to wriggle his way out. Not that he wanted to. She rested her hands on his chest, straightened herself up, giving him an about unobstructed view of her breasts. She was beautiful, the little hairs on her forearms a pearlescent sheen of silver on light brown skin, the coarser hairs that guarded the oven tickling his belly when they made their way over it. She bit her lip, laughed suggestively, made them rock in unison. She was his world, she was very much real, and he clung onto her for dear sanity. He couldn't stop thinking how he'd scarcely met her a day prior, and already was head over heels for her. He just couldn't, even as he rose up to meet her lips with his, even as they danced in each other's mouth. She was a mountain spring to him.

She'd teased him many times before. "So, you said you were making breakfast." He was going to take one back. "I think you were lying a little, weren't you?"

"Idiot," was all she replied.

Before he could have a chance to react, her legs compressed around him and she threw them onto their sides, bonking her own head on the wood. They lay separated by slightly more than a hand's width after the sudden, failed attack. She recoiled, taken aback by her own clumsiness, relaxed her iron clutch on his midsection, propped her cheek on her hand, letting her hair softly fall along. He admired the beauty laid bare just before his face, curtains of diamond playing with the whitish light of the summer sun, taking it in, scattering it in a million directions along which it headed to oblivion. He couldn't resist the invitation however, he reeled her in and took the side of her chest for himself, causing her to fall upon his head, which she tightly wrapped. Their laughter echoed in the distance.

"Yes I was making breakfast, but you just had to make me go all hot and bothered," she said. "If it's gone cold, don't blame me for it."

He tempted her back. "Come on, I don't think it is such a big deal. It must have heated us up. You're hot."

She came to him on all fours, trying to sway from side to side as much as possible. She let herself slump right next to him, searching for a soft and delicious earlobe to nibble on. "You are such an adorable dummy sometimes." Ezreal could hear her at work: the click every time her tongue moved, contorting his ear in all manner of shapes under its guidance. His eyes closed, his back, arched of its own volition. His hands were shaking ever so slightly. It's amazing just how much better the world is when one closes their own eyes. But she was not about to get away unpunished. Not even close. The moment she least expected it, he turned the tables onto her, flipping her over, and bore down on her neck, his teeth just barely grazing her skin. He was surprised to find she tasted just a little bit salty, so he licked his way up to the jawbone. She laughed, relaxed on the bed, a graceful admittance of defeat for her audience totalling all of one person to see.

"Oh I see how it is gonna go, if it's you who has the upper hand, it's fine, but as soon as I get the drop on you, you surrender and thrash about like a little girl." Ezreal told her, trying to get her riled up.

"That's me in a nutshell," she said, still smiling with fake innocence, "now go do the laundry and polish my boots."

"No, no, I don't think so. The laundry is managed by the janitors."

"I know. I just want to see your cute little self wiggle about under my mighty heel."

He ignored her. "And I bet a whole ten Royals on it, that you don't have a single boot in the house, much less any instrument to polish it."

"That's the point, silly," Syndra rose into the air, her feet dangling just short of the covers. She beckoned him over: "It's your Sovereign who's asking you."

Ezreal made his way over, but instead of pleasing her, he grabbed her by the ankles and pulled her back down to Earth. She hadn't been putting a lot of force behind her levitation, so it was quite easy for him to wrap her in his arms. "Besides," he said, "judging by the sun, it's probably quite late already."

"Five minutes longer," she purred, wriggling around a little. "Pretty please."

"I really don't think we should," he said. Deep down she knew he was calling the right shot, and so was pleasantly surprised when he nibbled her sole. Explosively so. "And, I think we should dress a little before going in the main hall, you know just in case someone decides to barge in. If you're done throwing me about that is."

Syndra reached her hand out to him, helped him up. She put on her silken black nightgown, and produced a pink one from her cupboard. He sighed in exasperation, but slipped into it however he could, for saying that it fit him was saying just a little bit too much. And it was pink, for Gods' sake! Just what would happen if, say, Taric saw him like that? The prospect of having the giant man slobber all over him while having a stone too many was anything but alluring.

* * *

As he opened the door to the main room an impressive sight greeted him: although not too big, the walls were made of slate ashlars; at each corner, a stout pillar rose up a good three and a half meters above the ground, curving around and meeting in the center of a gothic-style vault. Two big windows were the most noticeable feature of the place, one ahead of him and the other on the wall to his left. They were two olden arches filled in with more modern (but still quite old) wooden sashes. The radiant sun of June came in through, cast an intricate interplay of light and shadow all along the floor, table, and even them, and every now and then bred a golden firefly from dust. To his right lay two doors, one of them he knew to lead to her bathroom, the other probably to the staircase. He walked forward, opened the eastern window, peeked into the still cool morning air. He correctly deduced they were right on a corner of the Institute's building, as he could only see the outer wall of the Ionian wing from here. A good seven meters below them lay an expanse of still verdant grasses, a small orchard, and a forest of what looked to be mostly beech trees still partly shrouded in shadows.

"Enjoying the view I see," Syndra said from behind him, gently pressing on his shoulders. She was no less beautiful than she had been a minute ago, white hair on black silk bestowing her of a certain ethereal quality. "It's only natural. It changes every day. Sometimes they are quiet and motionless, others they seem to threaten to invade the Institute."

She was no doubt talking about the forest. Moving trees weren't certainly the most strange thing he had ever seen. "Just let's hope they don't, at least not now," he said, hugging her below her armpits. She was not levitating for a change; for some reason, she opted for walking when around him.

She returned his gesture, touched his forehead with hers as she pulled him from the window he'd taken such a liking to, then they waltzed backwards to the table. It was quite funny how, considering she was alone the immense majority of the time, she'd go to the trouble of cramming a table in there that could fit six people without any sort of problem. Two plates with rice, honey, and slices of some orange fruit he couldn't quite recognize had been served near the chairs facing the open window. On the middle stood a glass jar, filled with clear water. Ezreal then sat down, took a forkful of rice, finding to his chagrin that it had been boiled in coconut milk and a hint of cinnamon.

"So, how you like Ionian cuisine yourself?" she asked him, seeing as he still hadn't barely eaten while her own plate was all but demolished.

Ezreal brought a piece of that strange fruit to his mouth. Albeit it tasted somewhat funny, he kind of liked it. "It's... pretty good, haven't been much in Ionia, much less outside of the capital. Do you guys eat this type of thing everyday?"

"Depends on who you ask, Ionia is quite big after all. This is typical of the southernmost lands, but yes, we eat 'cogonuts' and mamuang quite often. Are you sure you like it? Would you rather eat out instead?"

Ezreal ignored her, said: "Don't worry, really, it's just it's strange to me. Really, I'll down it eventually, just give me some time." Had she really just said that to him? Also and on another note, seeing the effort she had put into making such breakfast, he didn't want to disappoint her. "Although later, we can go have lunch at some restaurant, if you so wish."

Syndra covered her mouth, but it was clear that she was giggling. "I'm done for today, can't think straight. This is too heavy." She rubbed her face, said: "I just realized I asked for it without even meaning to. Ooh where is my head today?"

"On your shoulders, and it's beautiful."

She stretched her arms, said: "Ezreal, don't." However, her joyous smile betrayed the fact she was very much enjoying the attention.

He dug onto the rice once more, he'd already eaten half. Although at first he thought it was going to be much worse, he found that this _mamuang_ fruit was quite delicious. Rice, honey and coconuts also mingled together in an unlikely, admittedly transcendent, way. "By the way, how's this called?"

"Kaow mai-song. Typical Southern, we have rice and 'cogonuts' for days on end, so we mix them when we have too much of either."

Ezreal couldn't help but snicker; the way she pronounced the word "coconut" struck him as funny. Endearing, even. Before he knew it, he had already finished his ration, but oh boy he felt full. As expected from a good breakfast, he also felt very much renewed and full of energy, more than ready to tackle the day ahead of him. He had to attend to some training matches in the afternoon but really nothing else much, as the Summoner's Rift was quite busy with the Demacian-Noxian struggle in the morning, and in general. Everything seemed to revolve around which of the two headstrong conquerors would annul their peace. His interest didn't lie in the political affairs of those two behemoths, however; although Piltover aligned herself much closer to Demacia than to the bloody Noxus, that could swiftly change should the Mayor lose the upcoming election, or if something were to happen to him. Or should Noxus win too many battles in a row.

She surprised him from behind, pulling him into her arms. He didn't hesitate to return her affections, stood up and walked her towards a wall. That was when he heard footsteps just outside the door and tried to back up. She seemingly hadn't, and so she wasn't about to let him go anywhere but closer. At least he managed to break the kiss.

"Syndra, someone's coming. A lot of people I think."

She looked at him, her eyes betraying her salacity. "So what?" she said, slightly annoyed at his caution. "They wouldn't dare enter here, they know I can blow them up a thousand times over." She pulled him onto her, more roughly than he'd have liked, as a loud bang blasted the apartment doors open. In came Caitlyn and two high-ranking Demacian summoners.

* * *

"Freeze. You're under... Ezreal, is t-that you?" Caitlyn stammered, her gun already pointed at Syndra... who was between them. She obeyed for the time being, remained utterly immobile. That was for the best. Both of them knew that, should she actually turn around and see the invaders, she'd be wont to lash out, kill them ten thousand times over, and quite possibly destroy the Institute, and perhaps a good part of the plains with it, in the process.

"Yes, I... umm, am Ezreal indeed. Cai... re to tell me what happened?" He had almost slipped up and named the Sheriff. Too close.

"First off, you and the summoners should have a talk to de-hypnotize you. Then, Syndra, you will have to come with us for interrogation and punishment." The dark mage started to levitate just above the floor, as her eyes started acquiring a purple glow. Not good.

"Just... what... do you think you're doing? I was having breakfast, and all of a sudden you barge in and..." A very angry yordle grabbed him by the pink robe, pulling him towards the broken door with unexpected strength. 'You must have absolute control, Syndra!' he thought before being forced away, as if to telepathically talk to her, although he knew it to be futile. He could see for a second that her face was moist, more so around her now overtly purple eyes. She was afraid.

A summoner relieved the yordle in the task of restraining him. That man brought Ezreal's hands on his back, then tied them with magical knots, knots that burned his flesh and made him want to tear the man's heart out. Then Caitlyn handcuffed him, and the magic around his wrists was thankfully gone. "Come see the medic with me, he will help you," she said as she walked him down the stairs. At least she wasn't acting like a crazy woman this time around, and seemed to actually care somewhat about the Explorer as she usually did.

As they turned a corner, he found himself in a place he vaguely recognized as the back hall of Ioniasōken. He'd been here with Lux once before, at his own urging no less: champions were more or less free to wander the entire housing area – although there were certain no-go zones, such as the Demacian complex for anyone perceived as friends with Noxus, or the Zaun hall for any non-zaunite. What wasn't so normal however, was that Shen and Soraka were smack in the middle of the corridor, next to what looked to be stretchers, as if there had been a massacre or one was or had been expected. Shen, Soraka... and Taric. Just his luck today, handcuffed in a pink woman's dress, and it just so happened that a man that very much wanted to do him was in front of him. He mentally likened himself to candy lying ripe for the taking.

Predictably enough, Taric spoke first. "Hey Ezzy, you look very pretty in that outfit. May I invite you over for a drink?"

Caitlyn snorted, barely able to restrain her laughter. "Why... j-just why! Do you have. To hit on me RIGHT NOW?" Ezreal roared, profoundly unamused by the big man's disposition.

Taric looked him in the eye, smiled with fake innocence. "Best method to try that sovereign mind-control magic out." Ezreal was fuming by now, a vein in his forehead swelling up slightly. "Someone told me she was a real artist working people up no matter what. Just wanted to try it out."

"So, the part of the hypnosis got quite left out, I assume? I tried to tell those dunces as much, but they refuse to listen or acknowledge me," Caitlyn snarled, then turned to Ezreal. "Sorry for the inconvenience. I'll return you to where you were, take the cuffs out from you and try to get the summoners to understand that she hasn't done anything, though I doubt I will be able to."

At last, someone who sees reason for once! Refreshing... the lock clicked, he was free again. Caitlyn glared at the Summoners, who in turn glared at Syndra, who breathed in heaves but was but otherwise immobile. To unobservant eyes, she would appear to have been restrained, brought down from her heavenly podium, forbidden from using her power. In actuality, they were quite unsure of how to go about restraining her; the only reason they were alive, or in a recognizable state at all, was because they had managed not to set off the Sovereign so far, even though at times it looked as if they were trying hard. Poppy on the other hand limited herself to shrug apologetically in his general direction, then resumed inspecting the room for signs of sweets and cupcakes left lying around.

Caitlyn's expression hardened considerably when she looked back away from Ezreal. "Alright, summoners, now you hear me out," she said, quite angry. "Your theory has been indeed proven incorrect, Radas, I told you: not her style. I have full reason to believe that the best course of action to follow right now would be to remove ourselves from this area as quickly as possible and search for more reasonable culprits."

"So," the male Summoner turned towards Caitlyn, seemingly doubling in size, "you haven't realized yet that what we have here is a murderer. Do you seriously trust her?"

"No, I don't," Caitlyn barked. Then Poppy fell from the chair she had been standing on, mouth agape: the reflection in her still open eyes was that of a levitating Syndra with three dark orbs around her. Caitlyn saw it too, played it cool even though she scared her out of her wits. "However, I would entrust my own life to Ezreal without hesitation. As expected, there was no change in behavior whatsoever after Taric undid the _non-existent_ hypnosis."

The Summoners had seen through her act though, and reacted as one might expect: by taking advantage of a fearful opponent. "I was just asking to know your feelings about this monster." Syndra rose a bit higher, juggling the three orbs with remarkable skill. Caitlyn noticed, and couldn't help but start to quake a little. "It is I who gives the orders here. I say we arrest her and bring her before the Tribunal. Please don't tell me we will have to find an external detective, someone who actually is willing to collaborate with us."

Caitlyn was angry, and powerless. As it turned out, the large Demacian was all too blinded by the prospect of easy justice to actually notice that she was seething because of him and powerless before the force that lay behind him. Ezreal, probably the most unaffected by the situation of the six, slunk to Syndra's side without being noticed. Because he did indeed trust her, and he wanted to tell her not with words, but with acts. Then Poppy, barely recovered from her fainting spell, understood what he was trying to accomplish and flashed him a grin of approval: hugging someone to bring calm to them was a very Yordle thing to do.

"Do you seriously think she's the culprit? I told you, no hypnosis, nothing. There is absolutely no incriminating evidence against her."

"We're dealing with the Dark Sovereign here, remember. I, for one, wouldn't doubt for a second that she is capable of undoing a lust spell in an instant, leaving no trace, or making Taric completely unable to detect it while it's still on him."

Irony was cruel sometimes. Ezreal reached for Syndra's hand. The mere act of coming so close to her made his hair stand on end. When he touched her, she recoiled at first, regarded him with purple eyes, then took his hand in her own, squeezing it lightly, reassuringly ran her thumb back and forth. She was still in control.

"What you say might be true," Caitlyn admitted, more out of the fact that reasoning with that summoner was futile than because of the actual value of that assessment. "However, what I think happened here is that the Explorer is a young man and the Sovereign is a young woman, they somehow met, and that's that. So, just to reiterate; we would best get away from here."

Then so spoke the female Summoner, a lady in her mid-thirties: "We... apologize for any danger we might put ourselves in, but it is Vessaria's will that we are carrying out. That said, you are free to exit the place any moment you deem adequate, or if you were obstructing the judicial process."

"Thanks for the information. I think I will stay here, see to it that nobody gets hurt."

"An honorable decision indeed," Radas said contemptuously. "Now, where were we? Ah, yes, party time. You two young birds, you have five minutes to say goodbyes. Caitlyn, escort them to a room, make sure they don't conspire against us, then see the boy out. We'll take care of the mage."

And so they did. Syndra stopped levitating, then held hands with Ezreal so that he could lead the way. "Ten minutes," Caitlyn said, "they also need time to get decently dressed. She's not been convicted as of yet, at least have the decency to allow her that." But it wasn't only a gesture of affection: she was keeping her eyes closed and her power to a minimum in an effort to ignore the two summoners. Caitlyn opened the door for them, let them in the bedroom and remained just outside.

Syndra opened her glowing eyes, struggling to keep her anger at bay. "I swear the instant I see anyone of the Ionian council I will murder them!" she whispered, so as not to yell.

"There's something fishy with all of this indeed. I do not have any idea of what this is about either," he admitted.

"Surely." She paused for a few seconds, brooding. It felt like it had been an eternal span of time. "If they so much as touch me, they won't have time for prayers."

"Syndra, listen to me!" Ezreal said, the first signs of angst starting to show. "Don't use your power just yet."

"No? What then? Let myself be imprisoned, judged in a kangaroo court, deported to Ionia and executed? I'd rather get this over with now, and be done about it, than have to endure two weeks of torture before I have do the very same thing. Would you rather go out with your friends on a nice summer afternoon, or stay closed in a windowless room just because some weakling is telling you to?"

"If you're right and it's the Ionian council pressuring the Institute to hand you over," he said, "then everybody will have to see it. You will have to stand before the Tribunal this afternoon, because of a crime you didn't commit, be found innocent because of obvious reasons, and be released. Only if you actually do something reckless can they find you guilty of anything at all."

Syndra sighed. "This is not how it works, Ezreal. We both know that if I unleash myself there will be no one left alive, let alone in a good enough condition to find me guilty of anything. And I will be free."

Absolute power, the ever handy end to an argument gone sour. Still, he had to try. "That would remain to be seen – and would be breaking even at best. I think you can actually win from this, not just stay as you are."

Her reply was quick. "What victory can be compared to utter, permanent annihilation of the enemy?"

"And everyone else? Anything I dare say." They exchanged an intense look, black into blue. "What they don't realize, is that they're giving you an opportunity to clear your name."

"You have a point. I will think about it." Syndra embraced him gently, nestled herself on his shoulder. A tear dribbled from her eye. "Power belongs to those who can wield it..."

Ezreal embraced her gently, rocked her from side to side at a slumbering pace. "So, where are we going to dine tonight, after all of this is over? The Freljord tavern for a change?"

She limited herself to nodding. Anything, everything would suit her just fine. They dove into a hug together, a hug that quickly devolved into full blown making out. They threw themselves into each other, however tainted by salty tears of anxiety, tears that found their way out of her eyes and beyond their lips. Neither of them could get enough; their skin so sensitive the slightest touch sent shivers up their spines; their hands, endowed by an insatiable curiosity, explored the other's body without any sense of boundaries. Ezreal softly caressed Syndra's cheek, wiping her tears, telling her he would be there. But alas, Caitlyn was rapping the door already. She gave him a quick peck on the lips as a goodbye see you soon... probably... I hope...

* * *

"Has everything been taken care of as I requested, dearest?"

"Yes, my lady. Executions and matches have been moved forward, and I've made sure every single soul knows that he's offering a special. Quite the turmoil. As for you?"

"She's almost out of the way; I've seen to it that she has no reason to turn against us, and many not to. She's fragile, unstable, and she knows it best. Then, another couple of bribes here and a few threatening remarks there will sway the populace for us."

"Heh, leave it to the whites to make a fool of themselves. Then we swoop in and take the rewards they left lying around in their wake."

"Sad faces go to many places indeed," she said as she sauntered towards the door. "Strength moves mountains, intelligence moves rivers, cunning moves people, and people move them all. Have patience, but not too much my dear... or we might miss our chance."

"I know you won't."

* * *

 **THE RAMBLE CORNER:**

I HATE EXAMS! They are totally insane, it's impossible to get 20/20 and they make me feel blue! Seriously though, they suck up a lot of time, and most often one just learns how to parrot whatever's on the book and forget it right after. Superior education is so fucked up at times, nonsensical plans, moronic, narcissistic professors, backstabbing mates, pick your poison. But hey, at least I have a little bit of time for writing! Took long enough for me to update, but it's done no?

I had nothing too much on the goal list this episode, it's just a lil' bit of slightly acid material tacked onto a piece of setup. Also, since I can't leave a ramble corner Zed-less, I've heard he might make an appearance soon. Just sayin'.

Anyway, see you soon I hope!


	6. We have them

A/N: Sorry for the late update folks! As I said on the previous chapter, college exams are quite the bitch even if they are midterms, and in fact I might've flunked one or two despite studying quite hard the last few days. But eh, life is life no? So here I am again!

Also, if this seems like a cliffhanger to you, please don't hate me, things are about to pick up the pace.

Anyway, onto the story!

* * *

 **Chapter 6. Pursue your dreams, sometimes.**

Ezreal hadn't gone anywhere in the whole morning, save for his apartment. He was scared, scared of going out there and finding more condemnatory propaganda. Had she been but a fleeting illusion, a wicked trick for him to open his heart to the fatal knife? Outside, the day had become heavily overcast, thunder rumbling in the distance, as if striving to match his mood. "BREAKING NEWS:" written over the whole institute, "Vicious Attack In The Institute's Premises: Scores Of Champions In Coma." Below that, the Journal of Justice was host to a frozen disquisition about the methods involved and what could possibly a motivator for such violent action, then an interview where the High Councillor Vessaria Kolminye condemned such actions at length, stated the foundational lemmas of the League of Legends one by one and in various forms, and proceeded to conduct a short interview with Jericho Swain, allegedly the only champion who had recovered somewhat so far.

There were certain kinks in the rundown of the attacked: there was absolutely no one down for Ionia or the Freljord, and the Noxians had been hit the hardest of them all. Then the fact that Swain himself was among the victims; anyone foolish enough to attack him had to be a threat of the highest caliber, since letting himself be taken down was not something that would befit the general. Katarina, Talon, Darius and Kled were also down for Noxus. He was reading the list most carefully, hoping not to see what he knew followed. For Demacia the targets had been Quinn and Lux, the latter of which appeared to be in grave danger. Then diverse champions without any apparent pattern: professor Heimerdinger for his own homeland, Kog'Maw, Teemo, Thresh... He was interrupted by a sudden blackening of the room, as if darkness had just crept in to relieve him from that unholy newspaper.

He decided he'd have to go get some air outside. His apartment was far too modest and quadrangular to spend the whole day in. Clad in a new set of tee and jeans, he was ready to finally face the day after so many setbacks. At least his friends and acquaintances didn't quite know whom he had slept with last night, or he was sure he would take the blame. Training matches had been suspended, and there wasn't really much else to do, so most of the champions were nowhere to be seen, probably watching over their wounded in some infirmary ward or simply staying indoors. And at the pinnacle of this pyramid of chaos was the Dark Sovereign. Even though it was not true... She had killed them all without doing anything at all...

He exited his room, made his way through the grand hall of Piltover in the Institute. The walls were all rectangular and white, aluminum-framed windows breaking their monotony with a monotony all of their own. There wasn't really any transit of summoners either; the few that remained there were trying to keep the PNN at bay, so as not to 'alarm the citizens' and to transmit the message that everything was under control. It was then that he saw Tobias 'Twisted' Fate leaning against one of the pillars, alternatively watching a playing card and Graves smoke idly in the central gardens.

"How's you doin', man? Consarned lass's gonna take the Institute look-like, so many folks she's downed," he said. Ezreal understood not a word but nodded anyway. "I heard Lux was among the attacked. Have you been over to the ward?"

That last part he did understand better. "I kind of was going over there, had quite the rough night to be honest. I woke up at like twelve in the morning with a terrible headache, you know, the party, and well, first thing I know is that something had happened. Then I read the journal and I see the breaking news."

"Ow, that hurts. Just a-partyin' one night, next day it's over. 'Twas kind of all of a sudden don't you think?"

"Yeah, that. Also, it seems quite hard to believe that Syndra of all people would do this kind of thing. I don't see a reason why, no reason at all. Just killing them outright is more like her."

"Dadburned Piltovians, all of you playin' detective," Tobias said, smirking. "Now that you say it, you've got a point, but y'know, she's quite touched in the head. Unpredictable, one second she's a-walkin' an' the next she's up an' tryin' asplode yer head like it ain't no thang."

"Yeah, kind of frivolous and... wantonly and... we get the idea. But she seemed to be getting better as of late, at least to me. What's the worst she's tried to do last year or two?"

"Kinda I suppose. Fye member correctly, she's tried'a beat that freaky shadow boy real bad three times over. Not that I blame her-, he can get quite annoyin' at times, what with the constant threats an' all of the yabberin' about shadows an' blades. He'd probably make me pitch a conniption if he was stalkin' me three years in a row."

"Yes... wait, did you just say he's been stalking Syndra for years?" Ezreal said, surprised.

"You didn't know? What's with you up an' caring about her? I reckon you're gonn' have nothing clear with her anytime soon. Seems they were all for each other, then she dumped him an' he got mighty pissed an'... you knows the boy, he can't deal with frustration."

"Just like... wait a second... you're saying that, Syndra and Zed were... you know..."

"One knows where to be every moment, boy. Touches you as surprising, why?"

"Not at all. What's surprising is that he is stalking her if I understood correctly. That, and the fact she's attacked many people, but not him." 'And that she's told me nothing of the sort.'

"Maybe a little, but y'know, she's so her: cain't expect no thang of her, she'll do whatever she feels like with nary a care in the world. I could say, they're made for 'chother."

"What I'm trying to say is, wouldn't it be..."

"Yeah, yeah, ah get where yer tryin'a go. For the record, I know it'sn't been her, thank you."

"How... were you there all the time? In her apartment?"

"Daaaayaaamn, thank you for spilling that." Ezreal cursed himself silently: this man was the last one he'd want to know about her. What's done can't be undone, and he had probably just given Tobias a fair share of credits. "No, I was never there, I just saw a whole mess o' Summoners, Demacians mostly, an' fye know sump'n at all, 'tis that she's got enough power to turn 'em all into red gunk." He stopped to think for a second, twirled the card he was holding. "Real strange I daresay, all this business ain't quite as usual."

That is, if he had actually said anything at all. "Also, do you by any chance know what LeBlanc might be up to? I think he did something on me yesterday, tried to fool me into injuring myself."

Tobias laughed out loud, said: "Our beloved Deceiver! You're kiddin' me now? 'Nother pistol! I have not an inkling of what she wants, when she comes near me she could be a-courtin' me for all I know!"

"That prospect would actually sound scary," Ezreal mumbled.

"Not as much as you'd think. Ah suppose she's good for carnal pleasures too," Tobias shouted, yet again on the brink of laughter.

"One might think... anyway, I should be going now, I am starting to believe none of this. I mean, as if on cue, she gets me and bam! Everything's gone down the drain!"

"Happens. Don't always search for a reason, cause sometimes, reasons there ain't none. An' you'll be darned if you do. Ah had to suffer it after my man botched that last heist, thought he betrayed me but eh, he's just a lil' bit too crazy for his own good sometimes."

Ezreal thanked him politely before going on his way. He could have sworn that someone was following him in this gloomy noon. A flash of lightning just overhead abstracted him from his thoughts, made every tree tremble in fear under the intermittent light, the harbinger of a much greater force that could all too easily course through any one living being in the Institute. Ezreal made it into a porch before it started to pour down like he had never seen before: in a minute or two the garden would be filled with puddles deep enough to wet the bottom of the jeans without even meaning to, all the more so because of the greenish clouds overhead.

Lux would be more hospitable than this weather.

* * *

"Wow, look who we've got here! If it isn't Ezreal!"

The distant sound of rain hitting masonry could be heard even in the infirmary; it looked as if the raindrops themselves protested their ultimate destiny, total and imminent cessation of collective existence, singing a requiem for those drowned beneath their bodies. There were a lot of people in the hallway, some drinking coffee in the hastily-laid tables, some reading the Journal of Justice or other newspapers, others simply gazing into the stained glass windows at least six meters up in the wall. Akali was guarding the infirmary door, standing watch over anyone that demanded entry, judging, sifting people by a collection of unidentified criteria. She looked at him with murderous intent, no doubt because word had spread that he had slept with the perceived culprit.

He had more immediate problems to deal with, however. "Yo, you really bailed out yesterday. You should have seen lil' Lightbulb when she was drunk, she was all hot and lovey, you know, like, she almost wound up sleeping with me. You just let your chance go, dummy!"

"Oh, really?" Ezreal said. "I suddenly had an idea and went to the library to do some research, then got hooked on it and Nasus had to wake me up at some point in the night, so tired I was."

"Aaand..." Vi was, predictably, no less infuriating than usual.

"And then I decided it was too late to show up to the party, went to sleep a-sap. You weren't up till very late, were you? I heard nothing as I fell asleep, you guys are often quite loud."

She raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "You didn't hear us? Are you sure you haven't gone deaf? We were up and going until like 5 in the morning! Or maybe..."

Not this again.

"Or maybe... just maybe you haven't slept in your place at all! You smell quite funny too, by the way... whom was it? Can we celebrate tonight, you know, throw the red strings up and about? It would be awesome!"

"You seriously were up until 5? I thought you'd have gone to bed earlier, give her a bottle of champagne, or vodka, and had fun way earlier than that."

"Yo, my personal life is not for you to peep on. Now will you tell me where were you last night? I'm curious about who got lucky too."

"Your hypocrisy aside, I'm not about to tell you. I'm sure Caitlyn already has, she kind of caught me red-handed, and if I know a thing about her it is that she confides in you."

"Ha, ha, very funny," Vi snapped. "What is wrong with you, man? I already told you, do not put the Sheriff in the middle. Ours is a _strictly professional_ relationship."

"Sure, and I'm..."

Outside, lightning struck very close to the Institute, close enough that there was a perceptible tremor in the air as thunder arrived. Everyone bolted from their chairs at the sudden rattling, looked about in fright, as if believing an hexplosive had been set off somewhere around them, and they were under attack. Fortunately, the iron-framed windows held against Mother Nature for now, a mother seemingly wroth to see her children completely severed from her uncaring embrace. It was barely past noon, yet it was growing darker by the second, so much that the lights turned on by themselves.

"Holy crap... What's with the summer here? In Piltover there aren't none of those storms, none so big at least. At this rate, we'll be swimming outta here!"

"Maybe sailing the western winds, even."

"I guess you could say that." Vi paused for a second, then he saw her fatigue through her perky attitude. "About the Sheriff..."

"Yes?"

"You know, with this sudden attack and all... she was sent to apprehend the Sovereign with two Summoners and..."

The most difficult part was actually acting as if he didn't know. "Has something happened to her?"

"You ask me if something's happened to her! She's probably rotting in some back alley, or catacomb, or whatever these fucking nutcases have for a torture room right now!"

Ezreal wanted to say something, but couldn't.

"She told me, she was watching over her cell, and couldn't come out till tomorrow. Liars, all of them, liars!"

An alteration in the trajectory, it came from the right. Vi was actually breaking down for all of the Institute to see.

"How could they... insubordination... obstructing a Summoner... aggravated assault... the Sheriff? I know she is right on this, it can't be happening, it..."

"What?"

"They locked her up with the criminal. She is to face trial tomorrow alongside her. How'd they possibly think those two were in cahoots?"

The last word was loud, way too loud. Everyone turned to look at the performance laid before their very eyes, a murderously angry enforcer badmouthing the whole of the Institute, no signs of fear or willingness to back down from her outburst apparent, leering in the general direction of a blond man. As if he had somehow caused all of it to happen. Grotesque, even, for it being uncalled for, unlikely as the situation. Most everyone's hairs were already on end after an attack which also was completely uncalled for. Grotesque how they turned against their allies at the slightest whim, listless minds striving for... probably for power, for absolute control. The last thing Ezreal would like to see happen was the Enforcer going on one of her outbursts and collapse the whole infirmary on their heads.

"Maybe they haven't."

"WHAT? Are you telling me you think she _is_?"

Ezreal had half expected such a headstrong reaction, but was still quite frightened by her grabbing him by his shirt. "Maybe this reality doesn't even exist, maybe it all is in my head, how can I know!"

"Don't you fucking grow existential on me now." But she still didn't let go of him.

"Ask LeBlanc." Vi twitched, relaxing her hold for a split second. "She'll make you feel the same way I do!"

Insanity! Powdered essence of madness, heaps of it above him, its bitter smell filled his head, its whiteness... Overload. He saw what he strived for through it, held fast still, for how much longer? Days perhaps, even months, but it would in the end... 'And don't you dare think I'm not!'.

"Or better yet, don't, lest she make you feel the same way I do."

Vi cocked her eye, said: "I don't know what are you up to, but I don't like it. Anyway, I guess I'll let you go, seeing as I've pestered you enough for the day."

"Aw come on, don't say that," Ezreal said, ever conciliative. "I was going to see how Luxanna's doing, I wouldn't will her any harm. I'm sure she'd be pleased to see you too, so why don't you tag along?"

She said nothing, followed him silently. Like a spectre of herself, like and unlike. Probably Akali, and a strong desire not to fall apart at her seams, had something to do with her moxie fizzling out all of a sudden. The panorama before him was not any more reassuring, and in fact the whole scene resembled a tanatory more than it did an infirmary: black curtains hung in places, diminishing the already weak light from hextech lamps and windows alike. Maybe the raindrops were tears of Demacian saints striking the earth they'd left so long ago. Still, he could see far enough to spot some strange scenes, not the least of which was Swain in one of the beds, lying on his back, ailing from what looked to be a torn shoulder. And none other than the Deceiver herself was watching over him. She however didn't seem to have noticed him at all, and quite frankly looked as if she had been crying for some reason. For some reason, Ezreal couldn't help but feel the slightest pity for the general, and dismissed that thought as quickly as he could manage, for it quite possibly was exactly what he wanted.

And he wasn't falling for that.

* * *

He knew he was there, in the back of his mind. Pay no heed to him! To his right stood a shape that looked suspiciously like Thresh, or rather an old, frayed high-collar coat propped upon a generally humanoid shape, but the usual lights were all out, and his skull was on the table next to him, completely inert. The only thing that seemed to be alive about him was his lantern, tightly confined behind a set of magic seals, so as for it not to cause any further harm. There was a bunch of Yordles in one of the makeshift rooms, as proclaimed by the incessant chatter behind the black curtain. There were many people here, Summoners, some of the healer Champions, coming and going about the main hall. And in one of the last compartments was Lux, fast asleep, having succumbed to the storm's lullaby.

Vi entered the room behind him, stayed eerily quiet. It was then that he noticed that Lux looked half out of this mortal coil, half in. As if she was going to give birth to a thousand shimmers, newborn stars, soon. Or just die in a damp corner in the Institute, amounting to nothing. The fact that he had killed her in his mind didn't imply he'd rather see her dead. It was such a surprise when she opened her eyes, blue eyes that already drifted into the heavens above. Maybe the clouds outside were in fact but a fanfare for a distinguished newcomer. In ragged gasps, she made a pathetic attempt to right herself, all to no avail, as her body was disobeying her.

"You've come to see me."

A wave of relief washed over him; Lux was able to speak, if barely. Then the undertow pulled him straight into realization. That statement had no apparent emotion behind it, no question, nothing, it was a statement that Orianna could have perfectly made.

"Yes, I have, and I've brought a friend too. Lux..." He crouched beside her head, she didn't react in the slightest, dull blue eyes still staring straight up. "Lux... what's happened to..."

"You, what have you done?" cried a voice behind him. Soraka. "She was in coma, and you've managed to arouse her from it! Will you ever..."

Vi moved for the first time since entering the room, motioned the healer in. "Sorry, but you're making kind of no sense."

"No sense? You don't even begin to comprehend the pain she's in now! It was her magic that put her in coma in the first place! Now you've removed what little protection she had!"

"I... I didn't do anything, she just... woke up as soon as I came in here."

"Maybe she woke up because she was in pain," Vi said, patching up Ezreal's lack of assertiveness when it came to such matters.

"No! When the body is in pain, it sleeps, it recovers, it wants to be spared it! What's not normal though is that she's just so still. Not a scream, not a single shiver, nothing to indicate she's alright... except that she speaks."

"She's a soldier," Vi remarked, "it's only normal she'd be used to pain by now."

Soraka looked at her, cupping her face in exasperation. "You don't understand. You never will. Until you are not subject by this magic, this torment, you never will."

"Alright." Ezreal had righted himself once again, intercepting Lux's gaze with his own even as he spoke. "What happened to her?"

"First off, I assume you read the news. They were everywhere!" Soraka was somewhat agitated, certainly unusual for her.

"Yes I did. Why'd you ask?"

Soraka snorted, said: "If you did, you know who caused this mess! And also why I have absolutely no idea what, or why, is this thing in her body."

"What is... that thing... you're talking about?" Of course, _she was Ionian_ , and had quite possibly reached truth.

"This... thing... as you call it, is eating her from the inside out. She'll be long gone before it really starts."

"That was creepy, I'll admit," Vi said.

"And so out of style," Ezreal added.

"There are no two equal injuries! She's an unfathomable, incomprehensible monster!"

"Has Taric had a look over her yet?" Ezreal said, all but ignoring the systematic reply he'd been given.

"Uh... no, it's against our moral codes to have healers looking at patients of the opposite sex than them. Besides..." Soraka stopped in her tracks as she spoke, looked nervously from side to side, as if searching for something. Then she locked her eyes into Lux's, as if searching for meaning, for a cause, a clue to know how to act next.

"The hangover she must have from yesterday can't helping things," Vi said with feigned nonchalance.

"Of course it doesn't!" Soraka's voice was snappish. "You'd think that essentially having her body embalmed is going to make her live better!"

Silence followed. Affirming that drinking was akin to dipping a corpse in alcohol to halt its rotting was a wild exaggeration at best. He'd known that some of the science collective in Piltover, the purists, led a continent-wide crusade against drugs of any type, shape or form, sometimes even doling out punishment to their perceived enemies. Not even they were that extreme when it came to propaganda. It then occurred to him that perhaps the Starchild had the same ailment he'd had yesterday, and quickly dismissed the thought as fruitless. Having existential wonders about a single reality was distressing enough, what changes breaking down multiple people's could effect remained better unknown.

"You stopped talking," Lux whimpered. "Why'd you stop talking?"

Vi went to her side, as if to comfort her. "What's up, lil' Lightbulb?"

Lux's eyes closed, dripping with tears, and she let out a bloodcurdling scream as Soraka fell to the ground, completely unconscious.


	7. Incubator of ideas

(Soft) **LEMONS AHOY, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK**.

* * *

 **Chapter 7. Tongue and hand, obvious keys to the mind of man.**

The world. It felt wonderful. The light plays with the room, with them, light of a thousand million colors. I am purple and white, and black where I so desire, while he remains unseen, completely enshrouded in the shadows of my uncontested dominance. Even he, that calls himself master of illusions, master of shadows, can't hold a candle to my power.

Oh!

I arch backwards from the sudden intrusion. He has this talent, this...

What was I saying again?

This world is GOOD! Oh, if only this could continue forever!

"Pleasure me, master of none," I say aloud, giving him the prompt to impale me. Impaling was maybe the worst word for such an act, but he was wild and... this feels so crazy, tingly, shivery! The grooves, I was massaging him as he massaged me in turn, arousing in me drives long forgotten from their burial, tickling me in places I had never expected or known. I feel myself losing control, but not in a bad way, not like when I... when I... His face is beautiful beneath the mask, a regal stare always, makes me feel special, wanted... I want to become one with him, and never worry again, fuse with this man, drawn aloft in the wake of his impeccable moves, darkness to darkness. Maybe I should take this to the darkroom, but it is so... There could be no day more wonderful than this: I can do whatever I want to him, I am in my own home, and nobody would see me at all, so why should I worry about pirates in the distance? A cool draft from the summer day outside brings me the smell of grass and earth, and makes me shiver with delight. Our smell is filling the room too, I am enjoying him and he looks like he's enjoying me...

"Nngghhh..!" This is the last of countless mumbles, whimpers and moans that escape me. For some reason I laugh, as the world before me disappears in a flash of darkness, then shatters into ten million fragments of crystalline light and recomposes itself as I open my eyes again, and look into his own. I can see my purple in his crimson, his eyes ravaged by countless battles for power and countless feats of dominance and countless triumphs and the blood of countless people below. He understands me. The incessant sounds of our little dance finally make their way to my ears; I am finally doing it! And it feels every bit as great as the stories in my library told me, then another whole world better, it... he's just flapped another groove, tickling me and...

And...

...

I look at his face, I feel like I'm glowing intensely. Which could very well be, given how I lost control earlier. I can't quite recollect the right now, a whirlwind of pleasure, of contractions, of cramps, of thrusts, of my uncontested words, of my dominance, of warm liquid running from me... I look at myself, between my thighs, for signs of bleeding, but all I see is clear liquid trickling out of... there. He's made me feel better than anyone before! I plant a wordless kiss on his lips as I drift off to some higher plane of existence, I transcend... perhaps not really... but I transcend to this.

Blowing heads up is perhaps not the only use for my powers. I realize then I had been neglecting a need I didn't even know I had, felt my power in harmony, flexible, soft and malleable, doughy even, to do with as I wished. I roll it in my fingertips as I nuzzle myself in the groove of his neck, inhaling his scent. I can't get enough! It bugs me that I will never be able to get enough from him without destroying him, and this very statement makes no sense. I feel the fire rising in me again, I shake his arms slightly to see whether he's awake or not. He's not. I'll have to do this by myself then.

I rise from our shared bed, wrap him tightly in the bedsheets and head outside. The sun kisses my skin, tantalisingly heating it and my aching, itching loins up. I start rubbing them lightly as I lay in the grass, closing my eyes, trying to relive that moment I just had.

* * *

"It is rather fortunate that she feels so fondly about you," the woman said, her legs still wobbly, her gait wavering from the recollection.

"It is indeed. Time passes for everyone, Vessaria. Even for us," the man answered, his voice calm and collected behind the metallic mask. "I hope you understand why do I want her for myself."

"Oh Gods, I do!" she said.

They both turned around to see their leader make her way across the room and to where they currently were. Vladimir closed the door silently behind her, followed her footsteps, a cold, calculated air of indifference inscribed in his pale features. Evaine grabbed some tea, motioned everyone to a table in a side of the room, every chair looking towards the central apparatus, a beautiful chair with an arrangement of prisms and mirrors that emitted and amplified certain aspects of magic, and remembrance. To a non-magical person, it would appear to be simply a decoration, an antique and elaborate disco ball, but each of those iridescent crystals and orbs was a venerable artifact all its own, combined with other myriad alikes to achieve a great end. Countless lives had been saved through this collective effort of generations upon generations of magi from all corners of Valoran. LeBlanc poured four cups of tea as she idled the device and the lady inside it, lulling her to sleep sweet dreams.

"How is Swain doing?" Vessaria asked her.

LeBlanc rubbed her weary eyes. "Everything sails smoothly. I might have overdone it a little, but so far everyone's concerned with other matters. I assume we have pulled the lever?"

"Yes my Matron, oh we did," the High Councillor said, still feeling the uneasy afterglow of alien pleasure in her. "It turns out that she'd been in love with the Master of Shadows."

"Great. We can use that if we need to."

Vladimir helped himself to one of the cookies in the middle of the table, took a delicate bit out of it. "I don't entirely understand what part does Ezreal play in this plan, why you must ruin his perception of reality. He is but a young boy, if possessed of delectable blood, and of no danger to us."

"Is that pity you're feeling?" Zed snapped, embers of anger flaring behind his iron will. "Pity for the young boy, the decoy?"

"Exactly," said LeBlanc, "he'll unwittingly woo her to our side. Visceral people are easier to control after all."

"Ah," he took another bite of the cookie, charming as always, "and he's no threat at all."

"But we must ensure she's safely in her power and in her perceived command of the world. She must be out of the way... and the only way we can do away with her is by letting her take herself out of the equation. Under our guidance, of course."

LeBlanc took a sip of tea, strong black today, and let herself slump on her chair for a little bit. Demacia and Noxus were always a threat to their continued existence, and appeasing them both while on top of them was a careful craft of strategy and skill. Soon, very soon, the plan would bear fruit. Evaine LeBlanc, the last Matron of the Black Rose. That thought was exhilarating, being the one who could finally seal their legacy, make their view of the world a reality. Letting go of the smoke and mirrors, seeing their beautiful world in the window every morning when they woke up away from harm.

A quiet "Hm," was all Vladimir said. Whomever made the black box has clearly done a good job of it.

"By the way, Vessaria, how are the pre-court procedures? I must have Swain recovered enough to represent Noxus."

"At the insistence of both Demacians and Ionians," Vessaria said as she sipped some tea herself, "the Tribunal is to take place tomorrow at noon."

There was not enough time! "Zed, I will need you to keep an eye on any Demacian summoners that might support Syndra, and ensure that those who do are deep within the infirmary when the Tribunal is due to reunite. Likewise with the Ionians, although I doubt there will be any."

"It will be done as you say, my Matron. Shall I begin now?"

"It would be best if you did. Remember, balance the attacks. Syndra will be 'released' at nine o'clock, so only begin to strike after then. Here," she said, handed him an evidently magical amulet, "use this on some of them, cut some other down, slam others into the walls. Maybe kill one or two idiots if you feel it will enhance our credibility, or are being especially annoying, but not any more. We must keep bloodshed to a minimum."

Zed bowed deeply and vanished from the room, leaving a shadow in his stead. It dissipated quickly enough, leaving a half empty cup of tea as the only evidence he'd ever been there at all. He was very careful, paid a lot of attention to detail, just as they required. Now it was up to them.

"Vladimir, have you elucidated anything from the sample of blood we gave you?"

"Mmh, yes. That it was delicious, for starters. It's deeply imbued with her power, so much so that this little vial had more mana than most summoners have at their disposal at any one time. But not much else – the blood doesn't always tell all the secrets."

"And nothing else? Did I not extract the blood correctly, or is it so powerful it just overwhelmed your... ahem... taste buds?"

"The latter mostly," Vladimir said, smacked his lips. "Now that I think about it, she may or may not ovulate soon..."

"Vladimir-"

"...because she's sure loaded with hormones this very moment, it's even making me feel rather... funny and... uhm... would you..."

"VLADIMIR!" LeBlanc yelled, fuming. "If only you weren't this useful, and so damn slippery, I would-"

He chuckled. "Then we only need set a time, place, some roses and a cup of tea. Delightful!"

"Are you seriously asking me out on a date?"

"No, I'm just making a point of saying things that bring little to the conversation." LeBlanc glared at him, kept silent. "As I was telling you, her blood has nothing out of the ordinary save for the hyperbolic amounts of mana: no clues as to the source of her power, any foreseeable limit, her mood, nothing. Any girl her age would bleed about the same, plus a healthy dose of fear."

"Alright, if the best way to see what's in the blood is by gulping it down, then do so indeed. You're the expert hemomancer here after all."

"As a matter of fact, I first analysed it, then... ah... 'gulped it down'. Might as well..."

LeBlanc sighed, muttered something to herself, drank some tea and sighed again. "Very well then, back into her it is."

* * *

"Secrets kept are weapons wasted." There he is, always so seriously considering gutting someone for his own amusement, talking about shadows, ninjutsu, and shadows. I could quite relate to him, hell, I am guilty of the first one at times.

But I have other plans for today. Empty discussions on theory and philosophical stances aren't really for me.

I stand up and hug him where he stands. "Minutes sat are moments wasted, too."

I kiss him on his neck, he says nothing and doesn't react. He's always like this; a cold metal exterior, but I know all too well that inside, past that façade, he is yearning. And if he's not, I will make him. It's not everyday we can see each other, even if we have this whole temple to ourselves, he insists that he has to take care of his disciples, his apprentices, future shadow ninjas. He doesn't want to realize that he's little more than a plaything of mine. And right now I want to play, real bad.

I grab him from his standing position and sling him in my shoulder. Not that I'm that impressively, physically strong, unlike him, hoisting him up is barely a speck of my power. I'm aching for him, aching for his ministrations, aching for pleasure, and he always has to put dampers on everything! When he does get down to it, he's _so_ good, but I always, or almost always, have to coerce him. I don't know why either, once he's at it he just takes what he wants from me, leaves me enraptured and unable to fight back, and I love every second of it.

He just wants a little warm up, he wants this too, I can tell in the sheen of his eyes that he wants nothing more than being with me right now. I free him again, if only from the most tangible magic.

"And words uttered are silences broken too." My words find him dead on as he just swoops us off our feet and falls into the couch alongside me, kisses my lips with deliberation. I can tell it's coming, I feel the fire, the ardour taking hold of me. However, the longer it takes, the more this feeling of having done this exact same thing before creeps in. I know I have only spent a handful of nights with him, but I fear I might starting to get tired of his patterns and his...

IDEFINITELYAMNOTLEAVINGHIMSOON!

He just manages to surprise me every time, his deft fingers plunging into me when I least expect it, it's so... goosey-bumpy...! But I must keep in control, the best's still to come! I look at my hand in this late hours reverie, close it, it responds, folds in itself, a tight fist which I use to punch him lightly. Of shadows he might not be a master, or know barely anything at all, but he sure knows what I like!

It's already darkling outside, deep blue rises from the black sea. Outside it must be pretty cold, even if we aren't floating among the highest mountaintops in Valoran. It's the first time we do it in his temple as opposed to my own, and it's surprisingly quite cosy. What it lacks in complexity, it has in this air of welcoming, this homeliness, warmth... Down there, the fire's burning, it's quite funny how I am like his temple now, right? Who am I kidding? I'm not the personification of hearth, I'm greedy, and I want him now. All the way in me, I don't have enough, I will never have enough...! I pull away from him and into searing emptiness, get my clothes off as fast as I can... Damn thigh-highs! They always get stuck where I least expect it, in my nails, or wherever... faster!

Tonight we're doing it. I motion for him to take off his clothes as well, I don't want any of that harsh fabric between our bodies, dampening our senses. Pretty much as I expected, he wastes no time in slipping out of them, presenting his well toned body for me to drool over, admire, crave, take all for myself in a flash of fiery feelings. And I love every second of it, I can feel anticipation building inside, as if it, just like my power, would never know boundaries. Now I feel it more strongly than before, and so on, and on and on and on in a seemingly endless circle that is only broken when he grabs me, and released as fits of shivers when he plunges into me once more. I know exactly what it will happen, and I still yearn for it; that's how good he makes me feel. After far too long, he finally takes a step towards me and lifts me, slings me upon his shoulders, no magic involved. From this privileged position I can see the room as if I were a stone giant; of course I can reach way higher than _this_ , but depending on someone else to maintain it is a magic all its own. So... romantic...

I can see where he's going now, where I'm going now. Next to his desk is this little room with a bed and cupboards and different uniforms, and also two sets of those switch-katars of his. He looks really menacing when he's out in the fields, a menace without purpose maybe, because... Seriously? All he does is go around killing Kinkous by the dozen? He's hiding something from me, and I will pry it from him. I want to know what he enjoys most, I want to know what he knows to be good, what his outlook on life is. I need him so bad, in so many ways at once, too many ways. It is not surprising than most people run away from me when they realize just how needy I am.

Sleeping with a hardened assassin is and has always been a rush; see him have his guard down, see me have my guard down a hundred times over as he stabs me repeatedly. Again, I'm terrible with words, but who isn't when they're being fucked silly and enjoying every part of it? And it's already happening in my head even if it's not really happening right now. At least I can give a more decent impression than my first time back then in MY temple, insist as he might that I shouldn't worry about it. Then I thought he'd actually drawn forth blood, and I know exactly whom is to blame. Or rather what... I look at my hand again, consciously ball it into a fist to reassure myself that I am still in control, ready to enjoy what's coming. Zed retains this regal demeanor even as his thingies hang and swing all over the place; it's actually rather silly, all of this ordeal. If one of the dozen shadow ninjas currently at the temple saw him in this state, none of them might exactly laugh and the poor sap wouldn't get slashed up for his trouble... because I'd get to him first.

But actually, who needs grandiosity? To me, it's all about being all there for the other and...

AIEE! Scratch that! Grandiosity as in 'big'! Or at least big enough for me. So entranced have I become on my own thoughts that I failed to witness the act itself, to enjoy the moment, to heed his entrance. Every time he does that, he fills me up for a second then leaves me and comes around again for the next thirty minutes or so. You see, with time I've become a little more knowledgeable about sex, about our preferences and...

Someone once told me that sex liberates participants from thinking altogether, but I can attest that they're wrong. I'm under the impression that too many things are on my head right now. My thoughts race as he pulls out, then are already gone when he thrusts in, others have taken their place. The only things that survive are mounting pleasure and...

* * *

LeBlanc struggled to stand up, almost caught in the throes of her own machine, turned just an instant to see Vladimir and Vessaria completely out of this world, their faces betraying the forced bliss they were in. Watching it at work was quite the impressive thing, seeing as it delved into the memories of whomever was placed inside and exposed them through the beholder's own eyes. It was beautiful in a way too, being able to know someone so intimately was the ultimate inspiration for love to blossom forth with them.

Even she was on the brink of losing herself to arousal, wet, itching, but she knew better than to give in. Now they only needed to find the perfect person to put in there, and the Dark Sovereign clearly wasn't the one.

So she idled the machine and let her plunge straight back into sleep.

She heard clothes rustle beneath, probably the others exiting their little trance as their minds were freed. She had half-realized that she had been paying no attention to them whatsoever, and it just dawned on her how much time she had actually lost. The clock ticked, long dial making its way past the three. It was a quarter past seven in the evening, and then she knew, she had found the perfect entertainment for everyone interested. For everyone but them.

"That was... quite intense..." Vessaria said, straightening her robe as she spoke, obviously flustered as well.

"Yes, very," she replied, "but she refuses to yield anything of value to us."

Vladimir looked left and right, as if searching for something. He made his way towards the table and grabbed a few paper towels, blew his nose on one and stashed the others in his pants, only then realizing that he had no pockets.

"Not that it does matter – we got what we wanted after all. You see, it works in both directions, almost like natural communication, only that we allow her to talk to her audience of four."

"Uhm... yes. Now what?"

"Oh, call the warden. She must pass by her cell first, it must look like she's busted her way out. Then we'll bang up the door."

"Ah," Vessaria shifted on her feet, still uneasy and unsteady, "I see."

"By the way, let her clearly see that Caitlyn is under custody. It's not only her pleasure we have to fondle, but also her hatred. Convince her that Ionia hates her back; it shouldn't be too hard."

Vladimir cleared his throat, said: "What impresses me the most, Evaine, is that she has willingly given in to our little... interrogation. Pray tell, how would you have convinced her to actually do it?"

"Oh, it was a long story, took many years and a lot of personal evolution on her part for it to bear fruit. You see, she's finally arrived at the correct conclusion that wantonly destruction is useful for nothing, and she's finally found love in Ezreal's books. It only took a little spell to guide her to him, and the rest was letting her play herself like a fiddle, present herself as the savior, take him in as her shiniest plaything."

"And now she'll be all hot and unable to think..." Vessaria's voice trailed off as she spoke, wondrous.

"Pretty much exactly. We want her to go on a vacation quite far away, then we'll open the first venue of realistic, heartfelt cinema, without any interference. Moving this thing to Noxus will be quite the hassle, but then recreating it will be no problem once it can be sold as a... projector?"

LeBlanc almost shivered in delight. That her plan was reaching completion was...

"Thereby multiplying our funds by a significant amount. How brilliant!"

It was hard for her not to laugh, chide her for her naivete. Money was the last thing the Black Rose concerned itself for; power couldn't be bound to physical objects when it was concentrated. They could always have things made for them, of that she was sure. Having money only ensured that their credibility stayed high. The real harm was behind all of it, hidden beneath smoke and mirrors, hidden behind fake inventions, technological revolutions that only served to bring about the cessation of difference. Evaine LeBlanc, the last Matron of the Black Rose. Because in a few months' time...

"But," Vessaria continued, "where does checking Syndra off come in in all of this? She hasn't been involved in our affairs so far..."

"A basic principle," Vladimir said, laughing. Not even he had been affected that harshly.

"Leave the wild card wild and time will turn it against you," LeBlanc continued. Vessaria's apartment had just been put on sale. "She is the only being powerful enough to crack Runeterra in half that I know about, and she's free from everything that might bind her. I don't think she will, but she certainly could send our world careening into dusk if she does actually care for the 'weaklings' in some way. So we gave her a dead weight for her to pull aloft, and took a bargaining chip in return."

"What about Xerath? Wouldn't he want to contest our power?"

"Xerath? That being of pure magic is but a joke in front of the Sovereign. Granted he would be much more dangerous in a straight setting, he belongs to an ancient world order that will struggle to maintain control however it can. He could be sealed by magical runes for millennia, he can be sealed again. Better than the ancient Shurimans did, by the way. It's a pity I don't think I'll be able to trick him into sealing himself."

"But," it was Vladimir who spoke, "he can still cause us some problems."

"Everything can. Any spanner, any vice thrown into the spinning wheels of time might damage its flow. We've been doing the best we can so far, one problem at a time, first the largest then the next one and so, on and on."

The red-clad mage nodded. "And... _she_... is a problem which will never be quite dealt with I reckon."

"I wouldn't be so extreme as to put it so," LeBlanc said, "but she will certainly will be someone to tread carefully around. Now if I could manage to get her killed... without destroying Runeterra that is... it would be much better for us, but the cost outweighs the benefits by a lot, and I mean a lot. But we can always use her as waste processing."

Vladimir emitted a quiet guffaw, borne of the more sadistic side of him being pandered to. Rejects, such as the DuCouteaus could be saddled with the task of killing her, at their own peril of course. Not that he didn't want to stain his hands with their blood – after all, he resembled a plant, absorbing whomever he could get ahold of – but it would serve as a distraction on top of that. He would be able to get his fixes from elsewhere, he was sure the world would provide. If he couldn't, then this is a red warning that he has to keep trying. Such contemplation was quickly shoved aside by a crimson rush in him, the prospect of having unlimited materials made him feel giddy to no end, woke up his lust for blood, his thirst for it. How long had he gone without a proper recharge?

His lust for the Sovereign's blood. For LeBlanc's blood even, far more accessible. He had to keep himself under control, but at times like this, it could be quite hard to do so. "Brilliant... and then?"

"And then... there will be no more rejects for her to kill. She will be alone with Ezreal, in the wilderness. But they too will pass on eventually."

Vladimir sat down again, it was easier to control his urges if he distracted himself by twirling a teaspoon between his fingers. "Tell me – what is the purpose of this... so aptly named interrogation machine?"

LeBlanc sat down beside him. "Oh, it is aptly named indeed. Haven't you seen, witnessed its power? By looking into their memories, their thoughts, we can know the truth about each and every person we wish. With zero effort."

The Matron turned around in a flash of shiny golden sleeves, made her way towards the contraption that occupied the center of their minds this very instant. She flicked some ropes, made its crystalline jaws open slowly to reveal the beauty inside, the Sovereign that was subject to their very whims as of right now. Carefully, almost lovingly, she plucked her from the machine, deeming her unfit to command it, transferred her to a strecher, making sure she was still fast asleep. Much to Vladimir's (and Vessaria's) surprise, she then leaned in closer and planted a chaste kiss on her forehead.

"Syndra," she said, her voice little more than a rustle, "you have made me find purpose."

* * *

 **THE RAMBLE CORNER:**

Sooo... there was none to be found last chapter! There's a very simple reason for it.

It's not me having nothing to ramble on about.

It's more of a literary, erotic, BSDMish reason if you will. It was partly ruined by the possibly unneeded lemonade disclaimer, but bear with me for a second. Juxtaposing Lux's pain with Syndra's pleasure, which could be a direct result of Ezreal breaking up with the former, but it's not, makes for a lot of commentary on the state of things, drama queens. I can explain in more depth but I kind of am afraid that if I do, I might be giving away more nuances than intended.

Secondly, about the maybe unnecessary lemon warning at the start. Sorry if this is not exactly a lemon yet but. I prefer to err on the side of caution with those things for two reasons: one, I honestly have no idea what is considered a lemon and what isn't. I understand that sex=lemon but I might be wrong. Two, I honestly have no idea of how prissy is the public in general, and what is considered to be just suggestive, acceptable depiction of sex and flat out pornography. And yes I don't want to fall into Ikea Erotica or a faux pas. By the way, now that I was saying this, **I hereby declare that, should you suffer death, coma, hypovolemic shock or moral crusader's rage by cause of a sudden, massive epistaxis that's both perfectly relatable to and completely uncalled for, it's a testament to my super-awesome lemon-writing skills I never knew I had, and ultimately your frelling problem.** There it is, and it goes for the rest of the story. There will be "lemons" and quite possibly lemons here and there from now on.

Thirdly, I fucking hate university exams. And university in general. I've been feeling so for a while, that the only thing that is taught to you is really subservience. Isn't Physics supposed to break new boundaries? Oh look, I found a clever way to do this seemingly difficult problem in no time at all, but since it's not brute forcing it with a triple integral in Cartesian coordinates it's not okay, and hence your solution is null by default. Because it's not what they taught me in class. How disappointing. Also, there are elections for the Rector of the Uni these days, guess what their mottoes are! Hashtag-this, hashtag-that, shebang-at-whatever, or the same old malarkey they've been sputtering out since years long past. But one guy in particular takes the cake. His assessors probably thought for some reason that billing him as "!Name: the tactical vote," is fun and will land him in the seat. Horribly against the very foundation of an election, or of democraty even if you ask me, more when having in mind that they aren't just a group of fools. Probably. If they were, it's all about dismantling the university in favor of the conqueror.

Yes I get pretty long winded. But oh lo and behold, I have more spleens to vent if it's needed to, until my immune system disappears. Then I'll be happy.

Also and to peace out with a humorous note: Syndra x Zed. So low have I fallen... But hey, villain episode, so it's all excusable. They can take the spotlight for a few hours, or a few years even if they so wish, I certainly, _certainly_ hold no grudge against them. Would I lie to you?

Not low enough it seems. R&R helps a lot to keep me going in this!

See ya soon mehopes!


	8. Acceptance of refusal

A/N: Sorry for the late update!

* * *

 **Chapter 8.** **The best prison is that which is unseen by its captives.**

She was confined, restrained once more. She looked around in search of an escape path, through the floor, or the ceiling, or at least out of the magical cuffs that held her. Forbidden from using her powers, from blasting the place apart, even from simple flight to don a more dignified appearance, the prospect was grim. She braced herself for the hours to come, put her head on her hand, and resumed watching how her pet-of-circumstances fly touched down on her arm to have a drink. So this was the underbelly of the institute? Pathetic.

She was staying here because some weakling had told her not to escape when she could. This was the only reason she was staying here at all. She convinced herself of it, tried to fold thin air in on itself to test her restraints.

The results were completely unsurprising.

Syndra tore her gaze from the insect, finding the dark orb that floated in the middle of the room far more interesting. The cell wasn't big by any stretch of the imagination, but it would be enough to kill some time. She effortlessly split it into six spheres, and made another six out of nowhere as she let herself fall on her cot, a wide grin adorning her face. They had let her keep her clothing after the interrogation, and she had wasted no time putting it on, realizing too late that she looked exactly like what she was: a Sovereign in a cell. So she decided it was time to spice things up: an orb in each hand, she took aim for the door, threw as hard as she could, then proceeded to slam nine more spheres around the lock. Seeing as the door wouldn't budge, she grabbed the last orb with uncharacteristic ferocity and used it as a makeshift hammer, hit the door a few times before she realized it was futile. The magical wards outside would hold fast against any such assault. For a second she was disappointed, then forgot all about the door and started using one of her orbs as a hacky sack, desperate for some sort of distraction.

She was going to get back at Ezreal for this. Big time.

They had asked a lot of weird questions of her in the interrogation room. Such as the date of first contact with some of the persons they presumed her to have attacked. Confronted by an all-demacian team, she refused to answer their questions, had done so in the most convoluted way possible, again, for the sake of having fun while she was at it. Also about her sex life and friends. There had also been more usual questions of the type "where were you at x time of day z" she had all but forgotten about, so busy had she been laughing internally at such ineptness. They didn't seem to realize they were being played with, or were just too afraid to bring it out to her, chide her for her childishness. Not that it would have mattered – toying with them was far too enjoyable for her to start taking them seriously. And a brush-up on her acting skills wasn't out of the question either. Lost in her train of thought, she failed to realize that she had at some point kicked the ball straight into the door, loud noises resonating through the hallways as a consequence. The boots of the warden clacking towards her door, she put her cuffs back on with help of her awesome power, willed her spheres to disappear in a puny flash of purple as she sat back onto the same corner, praying for them to pass by.

Chains rattled as they approached, chains wrapped around another prisoner who had the misfortune of ending in this wretched place. Unlike her, the newcomer had no appreciable magic within them, and was therefore unable to break their restraints. Syndra grimaced for a second: what if she were in the same situation, kept inside by forces great and unknown... leashed by things and for reasons she couldn't comprehend? She pitied that prisoner already.

She heard the door to the cell in front slam closed, the warden walking away laughing, no doubt to go grab something to eat or... otherwise pleasure himself with. This did indeed pique her curiosity. As soon as the ominous shadow was out of earshot, she freed herself again and bolted for the door, peeking through the bars and into the other cell. Luckily, her headdress was safe and sound in the corner, or she would have broken one of its horns in her haste. There was most definitely someone in there, but who? Maybe, in an unusual display of brilliancy, they would realize she wasn't responsible for anything after all. She laughed at her own absurdity, at her own devices to keep herself from being bored to death: the only way they could get to her at all. She created an orb in her hand and resumed playing hacky, this time being slightly more careful not to send the ball careening way out of reach, through the ceiling, or into the wall by accident. Kick, kick, she stopped the ball with her forehead, rolled it about her arms, then she had to stretch to her limit to catch it again and fell face-first on the floor, her legs open from her own weight. If there had been someone watching, they'd probably have seen all of her business, but it was nothing that bothered her; power and lust were always handy for such situations. This prison was almost a mockery of what she'd witnessed years past, or perhaps she was a mockery of her own self. She laughed out loud, uncontrollably, and for no real reason.

Then she heard someone banging on the floor and laughter was suddenly no longer king of her world. Fun be damned, she had to know who that prisoner was. She rushed to the door again, stood so close to it that her nose peeked from between the bars a little bit. The hallway was almost pitch black at that point, for there was no light but that of a torch, coming through a bend some thirty paces to the right, probably from the entrance door. There was also quite the cold draft running towards the left, as the tip of her nose, already runny, attested. But there was no one to be seen in the cell. As she was about to resume her pattern of playing with some sort of dark ball, she heard a whimper, a voice she knew.

This wasn't how she had expected it to go. She didn't know this woman per se, but her voice felt familiar nevertheless. And not in a good way at all.

Syndra sneezed. "Who's there?" came the inevitable reply from the other woman, mind you, still bound.

"Another prisoner in the Institute's dungeons, waiting for trial, Tribunal decision."

"Why are you laughing? For they aren't visiting you when they are visiting me? You wretch!"

"No," she responded, "-just playing some football..."

"Playing football?" said the other woman, disbelief overriding despair for a few moments. "In a cell? You're lying. You're not imprisoned."

Syndra's lips curved upwards into a smile. "That might be true... in some sense of the word. But I am in a cell, yes. Who are you, by the way?"

"You know already," she said, "or you should."

"I do recognize your voice, don't know where from though. Mind telling me?"

There wasn't an answer, save for groans and rattling. Was she trying to make her way towards the door? The magic in the shackles wouldn't let her, Syndra knew that much.

"Are you alright? Battered, singed, something like that?"

"Alright!? I have been utterly debased! My ideas have never been silenced like this before. Bloody Demacians – they will do anything to get their files!"

"A lot of very, very prissy people, I get it. They got me here too, with their friends the Ionian Elders of course."

"They haven't; even I, without any eye for magic at all, can sense it," she said, panting as if her air was short. "I was not born yesterday, alright?"

"How'd you know? Was it because I was playing ball inside my cell?"

"As if that weren't enough." She could hear her spit in contempt. "I've seen a great many people due for jail, and prison, death row even, and I can assure you that their first response is _not_ trying to amuse themselves, and certainly it's not laughing. They're scared, or mad, but you? You flout everything an inmate is supposed to do. You're a mockery."

Syndra snorted, surprised. "A mockery?" she said. "That's a strange way of putting it. By the way, since you talk so much about prison and how prisoners should behave: are you a former warden or something?"

"A warden." The woman laughed, out of hopelessness more than anything else, despair that clearly extended far beyond her current predicament. "I guess you could call me that on occasion, though I for one prefer to be out there in the streets."

She made a sphere in her palm, then let it dissipate, thinking. "A prison warden running amok outside? That's... actually a little frightening."

"Of course I don't keep citizens prisoner, you... dumbass." Syndra chortled at being called that. "I prevent others from doing so, if you will, even though there is a great deal many people who seem to think like you. That they should be free to extend their rule through reckless, wantonly violence, to crush their opposition. Zaunite immigrants, mostly, we've got a problem with them."

The Dark Sovereign then put two and two together. In that cell was none other than the Sheriff of Piltover, Caitlyn. "But, hey... Alright, just what the fuck is going on?"

"No idea. I'm as dumbfounded as you..."

The door holding the Dark Sovereign captive suddenly bulged outwards, snapping one of the hinges. "You barged in my place this morning, with no warrant, no pretext, and much less permission of mine? How dare you even speak to me?"

"Look, Syndra, I am here precisely because I..."

Her voice took on the beginnings of a terrible echo. "I don't care! If you open your mouth again... as you guessed, I can burst out of here and into there in an instant. Don't make me!"

"Please, listen! This is unbelievable, but-"

"Your persistence is unbelievable. You had better a good story to tell me if you want to see the sun rise above Piltover ever again."

"You think I care? I have nothing to lose. I'd rather die than stay in this hellhole forever."

"Go ahead. Then I'll have fun."

This woman knew nothing at all about magic, about the torments that were all hers to inflict. She didn't know what heights her power reached, how easy (not to mention how pleasurable) would it be to open her eyes and make her see that her situation could possibly be much, much worse than it was. She also couldn't tell she regretted her childish outburst already, chiding herself for it.

"Long story short, I was detained for telling the news."

"Telling them what exactly? That the Dark Sovereign was on the loose? Why the fuck would they want to keep it in silence? What do they think I am, a completely heartless killer? I tell you what, I kill a man and I'm a murderer, I kill ten and I'm a danger on the loose, I kill one hundred and I am a monster, I kill one hundred thousand and I'm a hero, I kill a million at the same time and I'm a goddess! Or was twenty-something champions the threshold for divine ascension?"

"I don't know. I tried to tell the news... that you weren't behind any of this. I was caught and incarcerated on the spot. They also plundered anything from the PNN they could get their hands on."

"Then why did you bring me before them? If you knew it wasn't me..."

"Why'd you think I did?" Caitlyn bellowed. "They forced me. They have magic, I don't, very simple. Did you actually listen to what those two Demacians were doing?"

"No," Syndra said, her voice radiating brutal honesty. "I was too angry."

"And rightfully so. Do you even know how many times I tried to tell those bloody Summoners that you had nothing to do with anything?"

"I don't."

"I also warned them that they were risking their lives for nothing. But alas, diplomacy always wins. They would have none of my bullshit, and you had to be the culprit. Have you ever thought why I am a lowly Sheriff, and not some big fish in the courts?"

"I'd just kill them all."

"You wouldn't. I know more about you than you think."

"Ah, so you've been investigating me from the shadows of their offices? Yet you've never tried talking to me. Eh, I guess I'm just that frightening."

"Ezreal" Syndra sprung to attention not unlike a startled cat "-might as well be the most infuriating lad in the whole of Piltover, but if I know one thing about him, 'tis that he has a _very_ good nose for people. I've known him since he was but a little boy, saved his father from jail once, and from death penalty shortly thereafter."

Syndra gasped, aghast. "What'd they do?" But also relieved in some weird way.

"I will leave that for him to explain. You two seem to get along quite well so far."

"Huh?" Caitlyn was already smiling. Getting around the Sovereign's temper had been easy, as expected, and she felt proud of proving herself right once again. "Stand still one second, I need to concentrate. I don't want to harm you."

Caitlyn obeyed, felt the heat on her wrists, searing her skin as white hot pain raced up her spine and made her scream in agony. Then, as quickly as it had started, it was over. She could move her hands.

"Sorry," the mage said, a sheepish giggle, "I almost untied your skin too. They're learning somewhat, but it looks like it's not nearly enough."

"Thanks, but, why'd you do that?"

"Because Ezreal's got a very good nose for people. That's also why I let myself be taken I suppose."

There was a click, a flash of purple and yellow light blinded and deafened Caitlyn for a few seconds, threw her to the floor. The seals on the doors had been shattered, probably into dust, but she couldn't tell for sure. Syndra moved towards her, holding one of her spheres and Caitlyn's hand to helping her up. The Sheriff took it, then hugged her out of instinct, for if she were truly Ezreal's mother, she would have approved of his choice in a heartbeat. For that moment, she truly understood the Explorer's thrill, his passion in roaming outside the usual boundaries, felt the slightest bit unwell for some of her past actions, unsavory, hidden behind a doorstopper. What lie beneath it was worse.

But in the passing of momentary stillness, she could see their chaos in motion, view it in motion as if it were the very day it had happened. All of them harbouring grievances toward each other, she could feel her pent up feelings rise to her very surface, making her hair stand on end. And then Syndra asked the worst possible question of her. The absolute worst.

"So, what is the Tribunal even like?"

* * *

He had known that there would be delays in judgement. The littlest spark of guilt found its way into him, guilt for having lied to her. At least in the timing, although the core still remained: it was indeed a good chance for her to clear her name once and for all.

"So, how's she doing?"

Of course, he was speaking about the figurine he'd left in there.

"Rather well. It's all fake, there wasn't anything but pain, and it will subside in a few days. Also, she has a new necklace.

"Nice to hear, man, nice to hear. But – why'd Soraka talk about a bug eating her innards?"

Taric laughed softly. "Oh, exaggeration. Her pain could have well killed her, so she kind of ran into a panic, tried to heal it instantly, and it backfired onto her. Too much strain, then she tried it again, and it was enough to knock her out."

Relief washed over him. Maybe she would be okay after all. "What exactly happened? I for one am suspicious of Syndra's involvement with this."

"That girl is often much more physical about her magic: whoever did this has been planning it for at least months and is truly an expert at their craft. Definitely not Cassiopeia or Swain, probably not Syndra, Ahri or Viktor, that leaves us with but a handful of options. And I saw your girl this morning, the fact that she was bound moved her up to the 'definitely not' category for me. But don't go telling that to the other healers, especially Soraka or Shen."

"My girl? Man you're forward."

"Yes, your girl. I can see a few things as they are through my rose-colored glasses, even if they do get in the way most of the time." Taric chuckled. "Oh and by the way, real nice pink outfit you had this morning, is there some kind of kinker going on?"

"Let's... better not talk about that. 'Twas embarrassing."

"Laughter is the best medicine for all ills."

"Come on man..."

Taric patted him on the shoulder, then went back to the infirmary. His slow, powerful magic was best for treating ailments that took their time, and it seemed like the perfect day for him to rise and shine. Whatever this was, it was not killing people immediately. If it was even an inside attack. The world had gone crazy in a matter of mere hours, and all because of a single person. And now phobia ran amongst Summoners, the harbinger for something worse, fear that held the seed for annihilation. Maybe the world was really falling around him as he paced around the garden, still a mess of water and mud from the downpour earlier, tree limbs strewn about everywhere, leaves his fluffy green red carpet for him to tread on. This time, there was absolutely no one under the afternoon sky, no one to ask him questions, no one to talk to, not even the nosy PNN.

If what Vi had said was true, there was a problem in Demacia at least. He had known, thanks to Lux, that the city-state was actually quite far away from the image they projected towards the world, but this... inconceivable. Everyone knew Caitlyn to be the top detective in Valoran, and a sort of chief of the exceptional Piltover Police Department, which itself was a great asset to have. But there was time, he had already planned to go visit the dungeons later in the day, when everyone would be otherwise busy. So he decided to settle for a fast food restaurant that would quench his rumbling hunger for a while, then he would elaborate and be happier about it.

He was alone in the halls of Piltover in the Institute: it was just like the Central Market, glass and white, shops strewn all about for visitors, summoners and champions alike. He took the stairs to the top floor, where he knew the food section to be, and there was no mistaking it: at least there were some people here, sitting at a bench, eating ice cream. Swain, Gangplank, Twisted Fate – and LeBlanc – were holding a loud debate over a few bottles of rum, or kegs rather. He averted his gaze from them lest he catch their illness of being deceptively drunk, and headed straight for the PPP. It stood for "Piltovian Poultry Products", the best fast food post in the whole Pilt river, and quite possibly the whole of Valoran. However fortunately, this business model had only taken root in Piltover, Zaun, and Noxus somewhat, so it didn't threaten the gastronomy of the western half of the continent yet. Hastily, he ordered a wrap, some fries and a smoothie, paid, and went away again. This take-away service came in rather handy at times like this when he wanted to see nobody.

But Syndra, ah, Syndra... she had made her way into his life the same way a hot knife splices butter apart. And he owed her his life not once, but twice already. The recent events were too much like the perfect storm for their fondness to blossom out of a tiny, unilateral, seed. Love at first sight? Admiration? Worship with a hint of masochism? He knew but two things; that he'd have to think about his feelings, and that right now wasn't the moment to do it, seeing as there was a certain pink-haired lady who looked straight at him with murderous intent. He carried on, exuding resolve with his every step, but what he could muster had no effect in that woman. Did she know what he'd been doing? Of course: Twisted Fate!

Wrong. Of course! LeBlanc!

He shook his head rapidly as if to centrifugate the hallucinations away through... somewhere. His ears? But it was little more than an echo of his own insecurities, of the chaos in which his thoughts lay, a whirlwind of fear and feelings. He whisked Vi away, watched intently as she sort of dissolved into nothingness, matter bleeding out into the surrounding space as if it wasn't exactly able to make out where it was supposed to, or whether it should be at all. Where he passed, none would stand, except those with the resolve to ignore him, those who weren't subject to his every whim and desire, those who were real and thus unafraid of being dragged away from his mind. Such as Syndra.

Wait...

* * *

Embers flared from beneath the golden metal, their glow intensified by the winds reaching inside and out, scouring the place clean. The only thing that would remain was them, and ashes. "Yes, the library is open. What were you up to yesterday?"

"I told you already, nothing! We just slept in until morning! It caught me by surprise too, that the Institute lays the blame on her. I've got the privilege of insider information concerning the absolute lack of evidence against Syndra. Caitlyn told me as much before she was arrested and locked up."

"Caitlyn was incarcerated? More probable that you're lying for whatever reason. I can't believe you are willing to tarnish your name for someone you knew but yesterday."

"I don't know it firsthand, Vi was fuming, ranting about what band of criminals they were. The summoners, that is."

"Ah, the compromise of trusting outside sources. It's something I've had to do a great many times, yet it does always feel the tiniest bit unsafe, the tiniest bit untruthful. Ideas do corrupt themselves in time, but not so quickly. I will make sure to contrast it when I get the chance. You may pass."

Ezreal could feel the curator's gaze leave him at some point, a sensation akin to slipping out of a straitjacket too tightly affixed. What was this strange thought beckoning him to the Freljordian section of the library? Someone he had left behind earlier in his confrontation with Nasus? No, he was searching for a dictionary, and mythology. He knew the word for the Ultimate Negation, the one whom no one could trespass, the one that represented the refusal to have one's life taken in some way. But, search as he might, in the Freljordian section there was no such book. Their indexes included the better known gods, such as Rakel, Vor, Ðothra and the like, supreme gods endowing all natural elements such as ice, snow, rain, the Sun and the Moon of their essence. In later pages, essays on traditions to honor them, such as what had come to be known as the Snowdown in central Runeterra, and any other types of rituals meant to establish a sufficiently stable social order lest the few available resources be lost in petty squabbles.

No one from outside the Freljord fully understood the implications of _Syn_ , and so it was left out, or included as a side note with no life, no accent, black and white. Even Ezreal had no clue as to what it meant to the peoples there, but it clearly was very strong if this concept was raised to their pantheon beside the gods of nature. Lightning, ice, fire, strength, war... and _no_. He chuckled as he read that it might be the goddess representing the Void. Maybe the frozen Watchers had, after all, come from such a place. For it had a bit of everything, and a bit too much of it. But it was not in the tomes on mythology where he would find what he was searching for.

Then ruckus plucked him from his thoughts the same way one would pluck an unripe berry: messily, and leaving a hard to shake bitter taste. Apparently, for whatever reason, Vi and Nasus had gotten into a massive argument, and the only thing that was preventing any sort of escalation was that the Enforcer had left her gauntlets in her apartment.

"WHAT? What does it mean, 'surely they have their reasons?'" For she was positively fuming. "You see, it was _her_ who brought Syndra in, and they accuse her of not collaborating? Like even you would have the balls to go anywhere near that madwoman!"

Not so personal, Vi. You really, really don't want to make Nasus mad.

"My commendations to her for her bravery, then. And while you do have a point, the Institute never does things just for their own sake." As if. "I will be able to inform you more accurately about this matter when I can read the respective files. I keep them after all."

"Hah, you're going to get them soon enough. Not." Vi said, still staring the jackal down. Ezreal decided it would be a great moment to exit stage left and over. His mind wasn't in any way, shape, or form, clear enough to actually decipher anything from the books, or deal with an angry Vi for that matter.

* * *

 **THE RAMBLE CORNER**

Sooooo... after far too long, I'm back at it! Where have you been, you might ask, and fear not, it's always the same principles applied in roughly the same ways. Such as the day having 24 hours, the university requiring some work, League of Legends being WAY too addictive, etcetera. Yup, I've played far too much League the last few weeks, while also studying for the finals due in mid January. At least I learned a couple things about everybody's favourite R-to-win woman during this massive addiction, finally could get down the Q past them-E them into it combo at about melee range, fed my ass off a couple times as well, ah fuck this game now I'm the leaning tower of Pisa by how tilted I am at boosted ass junglers. Eh I'll start ranked soon.

So as for this fanfic... yeah, Vi, even though a cop, is not known for lying well, and Caitlyn has indeed been locked up for her trouble. This kind of thing happens all the time, if one doesn't really know where power lay and/or what its goals are. Or even if you do.

Now I might look like an idiot, but I've reached a concise conclusion on power. Its definition eternally elusive; why do we want it for? That I don't really know. There's people that would possibly use their power for them to be able to live in peace. Others would build a wall because no-one builds walls better than them. Yet others would love nothing more than being able to be spattered in blood always, crazy ones I might say, but of what use is that when I don't even know whether I'm being pointed at right now? And I'm not even talking about hypothetical people, there's news about a certain **bastards** appointed for certain political faction in a certain "autonomous community" that apparently have been killing and raping foster care children for little more than their own fun and amusement, it's been going on for years, and the public prosecutors and judges both have consistently been chewing it out of the court. There are (or were, but probably still are) recordings and videotapes of the survivors and their adoptive parents, to be found on the internet. Makes me wonder, are they in on it too? So, yeah, one's power is power to make the others submit and/or die, there's no going around that.

So, it makes me wonder: is there no life beyond submission, mindless or otherwise? Beyond conforming to a series of stereotypes and political corrections? Is a life where I must be set at everyone's throat even worth living? Am I simply laying myself on a platter for others to nib and eat with such an attitude?

Too many questions, too little answers. And back to the future.


	9. Blood on the walls

A/N: Sorry for the late update! Been kinda caught up in exams and stuff, I still have another two to go. I may or may not update with more regularity from here on. At least I've got quite a few arcs planned for at least the fifteen next chapters, the hard part is writing it in a form that's beautiful, interesting or enjoyable. So yeah.

 **Chapter 9.** **Knowledge is only attained through sweat and blood, never given.**

"No human is unfeeling, and they had better not forget that."

Of how they'd come to embrace each other, they had no idea. A dark sphere rested on top of Caitlyn's head, unwavering, as if issuing a challenge to her hair; little more than a free win for the mage. Caitlyn wanted to refute her point oh so badly, the Sovereign's stern glare betraying the fact she (uncharacteristically) wasn't being playful at all. Apart from the faint echoes of their voices, and the occasional rustle of cloth rubbing against itself, there was no sound, so much so that even speaking felt painful to their ears at first.

"Why?"

"I don't need to hurt them. They do it themselves."

Syndra's insightfulness still caught Caitlyn by surprise, to say the least.

"How so?"

Syndra shifted, recrossed her legs, sighed in exasperation. "It's very simple! They themselves feel too... even Khada. No one can... I mean, not without being overwhelmed by regret."

"Don't speak too soon, young woman. There are humans that... what are you doing?"

Syndra giggled, flicked her wrist. "I think you look cuter with pig-tails, so I just made them to see whether my guess was true. Besides..."

"Someone's coming? I could hear that from a mile away. Don't be nervous to meet him again, after all, everything is alright so far... alright as it can be, that is."

The mage cuddled close. "No, I don't think you understand," she whispered to her ear, "we used to have a thing back then, and I know him, yet I must pretend that _that_ never happened."

"Wh..."

A shadow shuffled closer, red cloth following in its wake. She had seen such fanfares more times than she cared to admit, had to try hard not to retch. That mask, and more than that, the rugged visage she knew it hid, stirred her emotions, drove her into doing things she didn't necessarily want. As always. The only difference: now she willed herself aware.

Still, her voice didn't break, nor did her smile falter. "Hello, Zeddityzed, how are you doing?" 'Is this how Lux is all the time?'

"As much as I'd appreciate it, I have no time for your little games right now. Also, what are you two doing together?"

Syndra swiped her hair off her face, said: "I was boooored all alone, you know, so I had to find some sort of company. Eh, if you're worried about the runes, gather the shreds and give them to Vessaria, I know she'd like that. She'd like to be reminded of the existence of powers even she and her Institute cannot control. If only you had come sooner... ah, what's done is done, no harm on that."

"As you know rather well," Zed stared Caitlyn down, causing her to shrivel, "I work for this _Institute –_ only to appease those who believe the Kinkou to hold any truth or power. And they dare put me in use as... mail delivery?"

"Seriously?" Her giggle was now genuine. "Never imagined you'd fall so hard. Then again, you must know all the whereabouts in the higher spheres, so it's not all bad."

"And that's why I am here. They have finally realized they have no reason to hold you prisoner, so I have brought you the release note. Mail delivery service."

She caught the small cylinder in midair, made it float towards her hand. "Oh, you can sit beside me while I read, it may take a while."

Zed stopped for a second, as if thinking, started to pull Syndra into an one-armed embrace. Then he recoiled as if his arm were spring-loaded. "No, sorry, I have other places to be, I have... other things to do. Besides, what was that for?"

"Uh, sorry. You see, this whole situation is _rather stressful_ , so my power decided to act up. Again. Got to work on my self-control these days." She brushed some strands of hair off her face, sighed. "It's sad to hear you have to leave now, we really have a lot of catching up to do."

"Yes, but later. Until then, fare well."

Zed vanished, leaving a shadow of himself behind. "Remember to keep this note, it will prevent some fool from arresting you again," it said, then followed its master.

"As if," she replied, then realized he wasn't there anymore. She let herself fall face first on the alleged mattress, closed her eyes. This was too much.

The worst thing about the whole ordeal was that she had actually felt incredibly aroused from seeing him again, her memories rushing back to her like water out of a jug that had been tipped completely over. The same scenes she had witnessed while being interrogated, how they did each other in her temple, and how she enjoyed every second of it. But it wasn't the memory she was ashamed of; having slept with someone whose only feeling seemed to be contempt for the Kinkou admittedly wasn't a thing to be proud of, even though back then she had just forged her own title and thought it looked cool on her, as she wore loaded words like a girl, jewellery...

"Syndra," someone said from behind her, "is everything alright?"

The Sheriff, obviously enough. "No, it's not. I don't know what's up with me, why do I feel fucking funny in his presence!"

"What do you mean? Aroused?"

"Yes, like my body is acting on its own."

"It's doing exactly that. You're just having a 'stupid sexy Flanders' moment, don't burn out over it," Caitlyn said.

"Still not enough. I want him out, completely out." She sighed, still not righting herself. "What's a stupid sexy... whatsitcalled, dammit?"

"Oh, you'll have to ask Ezreal for that one. He's much more of a theatrical person than I am. Only thing I know, he says that to Vi all the time, and it's stuck."

Syndra huffed, practically jumping to her feet. "I will if I remember to. By the way, where's the note Zed gave me?"

"You threw it away when he disappeared. I retrieved it, took the liberty to read what's in the paper," Caitlyn said, holding the small, black cylinder in her hand, rattling it about slightly as if to entice the mage's attention to bear down on it, or her hand rather. "It says you've been freed by internal investigation and there's a series of numbers on it, not much more. Some sort of internal code I'm not exactly aware of."

"Sorry," the Sovereign said. "This might sting."

* * *

"I'm alright, very tired though," she said through droopy eyes, craving for sleep more than anything else. The only blessing, however small, was that he hadn't to break the news to her yet. News of him seeing someone else.

Seeing her in such state was enough grief. "Sleep tight, twinkle twinkle lil' star. You need it," he told her. Out of nowhere, she hugged him, even though she clearly had trouble mustering the energy for even that. Admirable however weirdly so, also pitiful, puny, frail... perhaps sad.

Entering the dungeons without welcome had been far too daunting a task for even him to accomplish. Supposing that he even could spot the entrance (the location of which he only knew roughly), he'd have to deal with the great many spells placed there by the most powerful mages of Runeterra. Probably Vessaria herself had taken part in those rituals, and she had done it outstandingly to the point that the gauntlet had almost broken from the strain. Yet he was still determined to see her before midnight – like hell he was going to let a couple spells hold him back! Thankfully enough, no one seems to have even noticed, or surely some other ninja would be set at his throat.

Speak of the devil...

"SHE'S ON THE LOOSE AGAIN!" Akali does have a talent to make herself heard even when one isn't really paying attention, or close at all.

It's just annoying really. "Who's on the loose? What's all this fuss about?"

Lux echoed the man's words faintly. "Who's on the loose? Who even did this?" Keeping the secret secret was growing ever harder by the second. Well, silver lining: no need to get into the dungeons now.

"Jericho Swain, it's the flippin' Sovereign that's on a rampage, so you better shut up, and take cover. Do NOT make me repeat it to you."

Then Vi joined the ruckus outside with much shouting of her own. Her voice rose above everyone else's, even though she was much farther away than them. "THAT BITCH IS GOING TO GET IT!" Probably she was the one to have first spotted her. Ezreal kissed Lux goodbye in haste and shifted to where he thought the Enforcer was.

He didn't miss by much. There was his friend, beside her another woman trying to hold her back, in front of them all another woman holding yet another woman afloat. More women poured in from seemingly everywhere, through doors he didn't know existed, then every last one of them launched themselves into the gutter with a single-minded determination: hunt the witch.

Sadly, none of them was going to make it. The witch looked back at him, and with a flick of her wrist she tore all of those suddenly non-existent bodies into white glitter. And she was ready for more, yet none of it would come to pass. He felt himself being lurched backwards at breakneck speed, then he hit something and got knocked out.

* * *

Not this again.

There it stood, the archway, the door that separated them, because he'd urged her to.

"Third time isn't the charm..." when you're really, _really_ not supposed to want to be there. For how new this very building was, the fact that its dungeons were proofed against meddlers so well had spawned its fair share of 'urban legends'. Every time he'd try to enter, every time he started shifting inside something weird transpired, wherein someone he cared about killed him before he'd be spat outside with a throbbing headache and not a clue. It felt like trying to shift into a wall, except for the hallucinations.

He then inched slightly closer to the door. The symbols on the seals' faces didn't really tell him much at all about how he could potentially gain entry. Snail's shells, some hands, goblets and other arcane symbols he didn't know to decipher. He'd already tried putting his hands on matching shapes, only to get thrown back and lightly singed for it.

Just how long had he been there, lying motionless against a pillar? Must have not been very long since, thankfully enough, no one seemed to have even noticed, or surely some other ninja would be set at his throat.

Speak of the devil...

" _What are you doing here?_ " said a voice from behind him. Only then did he realize he was one inch away from getting his throat slit open. Ezreal tried to struggle his way out of that thing's grasp, to no avail.

"Good question, what am I..." A little pressure was all it took for a tiny crimson rivulet to adorn the blade, "I don't know, I was tripping on mushrooms or something and I woke up here!"

The other man's voice got in his ears like venom. "LIES!" he hissed. "You know perfectly what, or rather _who_ lies beneath that door, don't you?"

"What are you even talking about?" Ezreal cried. Harnessing his fear of the blade to defeat it was an apparently sound strategy. However, a little movement and a drop of blood on the floor was all it took to expose its flaws. Then another. "What's your business with her?"

Zed's words were matched by a tightening of his iron grip on the blonde. " _I_ am asking the questions here, you had better not forget that. And it is _you_ who has no business with her anymore. Have I made myself clear?"

Ezreal's usual strategy against this kind of situations was bound to fail: so great was the ninja's anger, he was foaming at the mouth just slightly, and looking for something. Perhaps an opening in his defenses, perhaps for an excuse to go and slit his throat at once. Not exactly what he crossed his head, but close enough to know the part that concerned him.

"Have. I. Made. Myself. Clear?" Of course, the man wouldn't let him off without him signing a verbal contract.

"You h..."

"What?" Zed said, visibly annoyed. Then his face transformed like a sewn sock when one turns it. "No! This cannot be!"

Then the ninja retracted the blade into his bracelet and dragged him from the prison entrance as fast as he could, then prompted him to stand up. "What have you done? Have you tried to break the door's seals to clear a path?" he said.

"What would it matter anyway?"

"You've just roused the Guardian. Don't you feel it? The air is charged, heavy. Now be gone!"

Ezreal didn't need any more prompting to go. To where, he did not know, he just went away from the ninja, as far as his legs would carry him. As he turned the corner, he couldn't resist the urge to look back, to know who was tracing his footsteps. He saw no one behind him, the ninja gone for good. But now he found himself alone in the lowermost levels of the institute.

Where the abominations lie.

To his left was an archway adorned with a wispy curtain, gently swaying back and forth in a barely noticeably breeze, as if offering him an invitation. Up ahead was what looked to be the top of a barely lit spiral staircase, and to his left, statues of Demacian saints and Noxian warriors of legend, side to side. Oddly enough, no one was represented as the victor, nor were they at war, dying, fighting, or whatever they were supposed to do in the effort: all of them were looking up, at heaven. Perhaps it was a tale of peace, or a chronicle of a very unusual astronomic event? He looked up at the ceiling, then cursed himself for not taking a notebook with him. This section of the Institute was clearly much older than the rest, and wasn't in the maps. So, had the institute been built on the ruins of a much older building?

Beneath the veil, hextech lamps gave way to torches. The whole structure was made of great stone blocks, so carefully stacked that barely any seam was between them, and the few that were obvious were also disguised by inscriptions. To his left, a quite detailed bas-relief depicting what looked to be a rose in full bloom, thorned stem and all, and in front of it the following:

*ÆNBIK KVAR, VRVS MARKA STO*

in Ancient Noxian. Ezreal took a few paces forward, where an identical emblem and another message lay:

*MARKA AFA, VRVS NOXUS STO*

Upon seeing the word "Noxus" on the walls, Ezreal couldn't help but think: 'There we go, Noxians being full of themselves again'. But he couldn't be any more wrong. A few paces further, there was another identical arrangement, but this time the words were spaced in three short lines:

*ÆNET MARKA KVAR

VENSTO, ET NOXUS DRA

ROSA ALYAR SYNGLARAVRVS*

He was already aware that those lands had once been under Noxian rule, a long age ago. What he hadn't known however, is that the Black Rose had once been established so far from the capital, much less out of any city proper. He continued forward into the archway, again, another veil separating it from the darkness ahead. He stopped for a second, as he noticed that there were more words engraved in the keystone.

*VEN AJHON BLANC LVÀLLA*

He took one step further, gently putting the silky curtains aside. Beyond lie a dark chamber extending a good twenty meters above him, a smorgasboard of stairways on the sides, and some leading to what looked to be a central, depressed plaza crowned by a broken pillar. Before he could tell for sure what else there was he would have to let his eyes adapt to the gloom, for the only light that entered was that of the dying day outside through a hole in the far part. Not far from that he could see some walls full of archways, probably a balcony from a house or promenade on a higher level. The right part of the whole place had collapsed long ago, leaving an inscrutably deep hole that was all too easy to fall into. The last place he'd expected to discover ruins: smack in the middle of the Institute.

The silence was almost total, save for a little bird chirping outside and the air drafts that put his hair on end. He fired a tentative mystic shot towards where he thought there were stairs, watched it strike a far away wall, dispersing in a flash of light and sparks that revealed the environment for a split second. To his right, there had been a set of stairs that was now impracticable, if not completely gone, and an open doorway that was on the brink of failure as well. He fired another bolt, this time directly across the room, and heard a squeal, wings flapping about as the bat he'd hit tried to escape, then a thud as it failed. However, this was not what caught his attention: a faint rustling, as if there was a tiny stream of water somewhere behind, or to the right of him, did.

Before he realized it, fingers met dust, cobbles and broken tiles as he climbed down the broken stairway, lost in the millennia old dust, thriving from his adventurous impulses. One of the little stones rolled under his boot, putting him completely off balance and reminding him of the gaping hole he was treading ever closer to. As he fell face first by the edge, he noticed there was a frigid draft seeping from it, and felt reassured that, at least, he wouldn't suffocate. Relieved, he got up and made his way towards the middle, towards a broken statue of what looked to be a woman holding a crude staff. In some places there were letters and full words on the floor, just like the ones in the entry hallway, but most of them were unrecognizable, lost to time... or gravity. Beyond that was another set of stairs similar to the one he'd climbed down from that led to a sidetrack a good two meters and a half above the floor, the narrow part of the kidney-shaped plaza, and the archways he'd seen earlier. He chose a particular stone, one without many rough edges, to sit on for a few minutes and contemplate the panorama.

Blissful.

But it was not the slowly dwindling daylight filtering through the dusty roof that caught his attention, nor the impressive architecture of the whole vault, nor the fact that an once so important place smack in the middle between Noxus and Demacia had been completely destroyed, razed and forgotten about. No, it was but a faint singing voice, footsteps the source of which he couldn't quite ascertain.

Then it dawned on him that the extraplanars, such as Shaco or Nocturne, would roam the area if they had somehow freed themselves. A sudden feeling of uneasiness, fear, took hold of him. He shifted to the entrance even quicker than he had climbed down before, tiptoed his way behind the veil as if it would protect him from the horrors that may lurk. Thinking he was safe, he took a few seconds to actually look where he was going. Only then did he realize he'd just walked into someone almost as bad.

The Crimson Reaper stood before him in a most peculiar manner, looked almost as surprised as he himself was. Then his temper flared up; "What are you doing here?" he said, staring him in the eye. "Trying to defile our memorial, demacian?"

Ezreal shook his head in disbelief. From Demacia, he was not, and even then, what was special about those? "Is this a... memorial?"

"Oh, I see," Vladimir's speech grew affected as usual. "In a way I half expected you to have found our lair by now. One can say you were even tardy."

"Yeah, yeah... you said this is a memorial? What about?"

"Well, not _exactly_ a gravestone, still the only thread to the eve of our birth," Vladimir said, slanting his head upwards just slightly. "A link to our roots, if you will."

"But, how?" Ezreal babbled. He was dumbfounded, his thoughts stuck on this place being unknown at large, yet still somehow active.

"We do have... reasons... to keep this place from prying eyes. You see, this place used to be rich, used to be whole, that is until... ah... certain someones decided to raze the plains to claim sovereignty." the reaper paused, rearranged his cape slightly "With how doggedly persistent they are in their endeavors... there's no telling the havok they'd wreak if they were aware of its existence, all in the name of their martyrs and saints of course."

Ezreal looked left and right, confused. Had the Institute been built on forgotten ruins of another era? Surely not.

Vladimir made sure Ezreal wasn't replying before carrying on. "I've known this place since before pretty much anyone else actually. Dmitri told me about it upon our... Allýargemun, if you will. It means, roughly, 'two homes together' – ever since I carry his legacy, and that of our order, for a burden."

"Wait a second... " Rosa _alyar_ syn... The words on the walls! "...is that the same language as...?"

"Ancient Noxian, yes. It is, after all, one of the core tenets of the ancient Black Rose, in which you most surely know me to partake." Ezreal nodded. "Ambik kwár, urus marka sto."

Ezreal paused for a second, slightly surprised. It would be much easier this way.

"Translates as: _may you know the facts, and not be swayed by the world_. The other two, however fain I'd be to disclose them to you, are knowledge fit only for a rosebud."

"Are you meaning that..."

"It's not so easy – all roses have thorns." Vladimir said, beaming. "Besides, while there's perhaps a couple of rooms you shouldn't be allowed to see, I'd be much glad to show you around the rest if you will to keep me company for a while."

Ezreal nodded.

"However, I must ask two things of you. One, do not open a closed door, however inconspicuous, for there are still many dangerous runes scattered about, or kept as remembrance, from the first war. Second..."


	10. The silencing death

**Chapter 10.** **Making a killing to make a killing is so unprofessional.**

Karèle Herzennen. His first mark.

Zed strolled nonchalantly along the corridors, making his way towards Demacian summoners' housings. He already had a plan on how to kill her. Sneak past the entrance, distract her with a shadow, and strike from behind. Of course she would know her killer's identity.

He knew it all too well however; dead men tell no tales.

This list had been given to him by Radas, another Demacian summoner, one who embodied each and every despicable trait of its denizens. Little did he know that he'd written his own name in it... how naïve.

513\. His place to be.

Up ahead there was a young Demacian summoner. Shit! But he didn't seem to have noticed him at all. So far, LeBlanc's illusion seemed to be working to perfection: he'd already passed by a dozen other people at the least, none of which had stopped to talk to him. He looked at his own hand, equally marveled and abhorred at the sight of white, lanky, untrained fingers greeting him. Indeed, LeBlanc's illusion was perfect.

As he entered the door, he was immediately spotted by a young blonde sitting at the desk, glaring at him in a way that could only be contemptuous. Indeed, his disguise was that of a certain Demacian summoner, one infamous for his bouts of so-called toxicity during and after matches, an attitude which got him capitally punished. And most importantly, an attitude which ensured that no one would miss him, or pay him any attention for the matter.

Karèle's voice was lithe. "What the fuck are you doing here, Masturtius?" A soft quality, if not diminishing of the hatred in those words. "Are you here to berate me for my performance in Gods-know-which match, of my crest being undeserved or are you up to something useful for once?"

Zed noticed a shelf behind her, one full of empty chemistry flasks. Whether it was simply decoration for a lunatic far gone, or something with a purpose, he did not know. He closed the door and started walking towards her, not a word exiting his lips.

"What. The fuck. Are you trying to do to me?"

Those were the moments he relished. For a second, he let himself entertain the prospect of her being Akali. Now that would be satisfying.

"Get away this instant, or I will be forced to defend myself!"

"Try," Zed said, deciding to break the silence, to fan the fear. "I'm sure you're aware of the Syndra... scandal, aren't you?"

"Yes I am. Syndra killed a whole lot of champions, summoners, squirrels and insects right? Is this a job the Institute put on your back to redeem yourself away from your 'toxic' flag? Mail delivery?"

"In a way," Zed said. "Well, there are two things to this. First, we know that you know."

Karèle, who by then had probably ascertained that before her was anyone but the pathetic silver rank summoner they appeared to be, found herself backed into a corner, "What about?" her voice was breaking.

Zed took another step forward, driving her towards the corner. "The irregularities in the investigation and apprehension proceedings, and most importantly, your support of the Dark Sovereign. We expected more wisdom from a Diamond ranked summoner. We expected you to know better than involve yourself in our political affairs, but alas, you acted like a fool and you will have to pay for it."

One of the empty bottles fell from its place as she bumped into the massive piece of furniture. She started crying. "I didn't say anything! Why?" It had been all too easy to break her.

"We know you will tomorrow. Demacia must look unified, must act as a whole in its battle against Noxus. We cannot risk you saying anything tomorrow."

Then Zed shed his disguise, and it became clear for both, there was no escape. The shadows in the room slowly coalesced into a being to his likeness, possessed of both his outfit and, perhaps more importantly, his blades. It watched silently as its owner kissed Karèle softly in the cheek, taking in the salty flavor of her tears.

"So I die... for nothing? Can I not be spared?"

"You would, if the choice were mine to take." The ninja hugged her limp form, trying to comfort her in her last moments before he'd have to strike. Then he sung her a little song, a vain hope to keep her company in her voyage to the unknown.

 _"I once knew a girl, who was brave.  
She knew that Syn was not to blame.  
The illusion of justice never fooled her,  
To her, is the one I sing."_

The shadow kept watching, unmoving, unfeeling as Zed took her hand as if leading her to the afterlife.

 _"The Dark Sovereign was, to her, a veil,  
but a cover, for other misdeeds done.  
In the name of Demacia, would peace efforts fail  
And war would now raze her home."_

It was growing impatient now, his master taking an unusually long time to seal the deal. Perhaps it would have to egg him on.

 _"It's too sad, it brings even me tears,  
how her foresight had her life cut short.  
I've got some hope, that she'll maybe forgive  
me for what I've done, what I've..."_

It was at this time that Zed was left without words. As it often happens, whenever silence took hold of a conversation, violence followed suit. The ninja lovingly put her blonde locks behind her ear, taking extra care not to spur her away from her newfound peace. Peace borne of despair and hopelessness, but still better than the utter terror his victims usually faced. It would almost seem a romantic gesture, even for him, but he knew why he was here. She knew why he was here.

Just why had she struck him so dead on his heart then?

Slowly, almost ritualistically, Zed drew the blade from his bracelet, then used it to cut her clothes open, exposing her bare belly, her thighs, and everything else that wasn't covered by her soon to be red panties. He run a firm hand over her midsection, carefully, eliciting a quiet sob from her. The least she deserved, he thought, was a clean wound. He ran the tip of his blade all around her navel, her loins, her thighs, probing, searching for the perfect spot. He massaged her thigh, then he tensed up and breathed in.

And struck.

He hadn't missed, he never did. His blade was now jammed a good ten centimeters into her thigh, nascent crimson roses blooming forth. A momentary twist of irony, its seed the only thing preventing it from becoming a deadly panicle, once it was gone it would take only two minutes for her to wilt. Instead, he took off his bracelet, left his blade where it had found its mark, to prolong her life however shortly. And most importantly to keep too much blood from spilling all over the floor and have it be impossible to remove. He commanded his shadow to create a passage to the underground on the floor, positioned Karèle over the thusly created circulation, and only then did he let her bleed out.

As she died, she didn't make a sound, not a scream, she just laid there and faced it with resignation. Her cheeks soon lost their blush, as did the veins in her eyes, and her lips grew pale as her strength waned past the new moon. She shivered for the last time.

For the last time.

* * *

A corridor lay before her, to her right a bend. She knew all too well where that one led.

She was surprised, and slightly disappointed, at the Sheriff's insistence on remaining incarcerated. It was only question of whether the Institute expected her to tag along or not. There was still another question though: now that she was found innocent, ( _and rightfully so!_ ), there was still something, or someone to blame rather. She had her suspicions but wasn't exactly sure enough to go on any of them.

Why again had she forgotten, no, refused to talk that out with Caitlyn?

Still, Ezreal was on the very top of her to do list. The caring person she'd grown to love would most likely be found in the infirmary, watching over his demacian friend. The same infirmary she would love sending a certain someone to... Radas, or something like that, whatever his name was. Her power mounting, she rose above the floor, abandoning any pretence of humility. There was no reason for her to dally, no reason for her feet to touch such corrupt ground after all, and if anyone had the gall to spot her and call her out... well, there is no telling what would happen to them. The Sovereign was royally _pissed_ and she wasn't about to hide it either, consequences be damned.

As the archways of the cathedral loomed closer, or rather as she loomed ever closer to the weaklings taking shelter beneath them, she reached out with her powers to feel a familiar presence behind her. She made a point of slowing down and huffing in nonchalance, trying the shadows.

"Akali," she said, voice dripping with both magic and contempt, "I know you're at my back. And I'm not about to let myself be killed, let alone stopped. May you continue with your mission in peace as I will."

She dashed in front of her, silent until the end. Until her end.

"Look Akali, I wish you no harm, really." She still didn't flinch. "However... if you insist on being in front of me, I might just have to place you... somewhere else."

The young ninja crossed her arms. "Just try" was her challenge.

"Alright. Would you please be so kind as to take two steps to the side? I really don't want to kill you or anything. I really, really don't, but if you insist..."

It was clear the ninja wasn't taking her seriously. Unfortunately for her, Syndra wasn't bluffing either. A dark sphere smacking her hard across her face was but the beginning of her troubles. Then she was spun around her axis very rapidly for as long as the mage took to decide she was done fooling around with her and leave her sitting in a corner, too dizzy to be of any threat. Now on to why she was there in the first place: if Ezreal were here, he'd most probably be caring for Lux. Even though there wasn't that much people going back and forth inside, there still was a certain air of tension in the air, an uneasiness that Swain's gawking in her general direction did not help to relieve. His face, indecipherable as always, contrasted with an obvious, gaping wound adorning his chest and turning parts of the white cloth scarlet.. Once more, she was at a crossroads, literally.

She thought nothing of the gentleman passing her by on his way outside, not until she realized it was Taric she just passed by. Without hesitation, she chased him until she could yank on his cape to grab his attention.

"What is your... oh, I see. Whom are you here for?"

She feared the worst. "What do you mean, be here for?"

"I suspect what your reasons are, however only you know them for certain."

"Why. Won't. You give me a straight answer!" Syndra's voice was little more than a snarl, her eyes little more than two glowing slits. She then produced the release notice from the recesses of her dress, flaunting it around with such force that she almost smacked Taric with it, perhaps accidentally.

"Oh, I see," he said. "They lied before, they're still lying, mark my words."

"Lux."

"All the way down to the left, the last door to the right. She's quite probably under Soraka's watch, so be careful."

"… You don't know, do you?"

"What about?"

 _I swear before the spirit of the Twin Serpents, that you will learn restraint..._ Syndra shook her head, wiped a tear she didn't know she'd shed. "Uhm... nothing, nothing at all. Thanks for the directions."

Taric was bewildered by her change in attitude: while there certainly was an aftertaste of her usual fieryness, the Dark Sovereign had never struck him as a melancholic type. As for herself, she paid no heed to anything but the door at the end of the hallway she had darted towards. She also paid no heed to agitation, unspoken unrest rising in her wake; there was the door, and there was Lux, and there was Ezreal, and there was herself, and there was nothing else that very instant. She was in front of the door in no time.

Inside, there was a small bed with an equally petite girl in it, hooked onto various devices whose purpose neither of them didn't even begin to comprehend beyond the basic level of "they're there to try and keep Luxanna alive". Later on she saw there was furniture off to the box sides, not the least of which was a chair with a half-asleep Vi on it. Off to the side, under the shadow of a storm of her own creation, almost as if trying hard to be artistically put out from frame yet barely still in it. Syndra waved slightly with her hand to acknowledge the enforcer's presence, obtaining a curt nod in response.

It was obvious that Vi was quite tired, desolated, or both, and she wasn't picky about voicing her concerns either. "Yo," she said, "can you watch over her for a sec?"

"Yes... assuredly... what for, though?"

Vi looked her in the eyes, then glanced over to Lux. "You don't know about it, do you? Guess those motherfuckers really did their job of locking Cait up real good... Anyway, Syndra got pissed off tonight, _again_ , and just had to hit other people to calm down. Lux here got hit the hardest this time around... just the perfect way to begin the morning."

Syndra realized that exhaustion was the only thing separating Vi from a roaring rampage right there, right then.

"And then they try to cover it, because you know, she's a champion now and as such can do whatever she wants. Great, isn't it? To the point that they turn on their associates."

She also realized that disbelief only separated her from tearing the whole place apart, if subconsciously. "No..." she mumbled, "hadn't heard of that at all."

"Great. Great!" Vi's grin, and her gestures in general strode a decidedly uncanny middle ground between being relieved by and taking offence at the other's words. "I do not know who you are, but thanks. Really need to go out there and vent some steam and get some fresh air and stuff... sorry if I've been rude, day's been fucking goddamn perfect really..."

"Don't worry, I can relate," Syndra reassured her, not quite sure of what she was doing.

Vi rose up from her chair and quickly picked up the pace, stretched her arms and rushed outside without a second thought. Now she truly appreciated the chiaroscuro putting Lux as the highlight and everything else in shadow, for it had hid her well enough. She paced closer to the head of the bed, to see the Demacian's face as she slept and also to try and ascertain what had gotten her to a... comatose... _WHAT?!_... state, right. Exactly.

Lux moaned. "Of all people in the Institute, you were the single last one I expected to pay me a visit," she said. "Even if my eyes are closed I've known you're here since before you did away with Akali."

The Sovereign kept silent for now, letting Lux pour it out.

"You know... I'll admit, I've grossly underestimated you. I honestly thought you would have actually torn someone limb from limb by now, as soon as they told you the news, or tried to act on them."

Syndra's only response was a polite "mhm" to get her to continue.

"It does really take a fair amount of restraint to stop oneself from doing so... I do really know the story, everyone against yourself, trying to make you obey, to fit in their organized system and abide by their rules... i've been through that as well."

"So you don't believe it was me."

"Never have. I know well enough to tell you apart from anyone else."

Syndra shuffled on her feet, paradoxically uncomfortable. "How do you feel?"

"Tired," Lux said, "-tired and beaten up, not unlike how one feels after the maladies. Soraka and Taric have been trying their best to break LeBlanc's curse, but so far the first's knocked herself out and he has only stopped it. But it will come back, oh, it will come back!"

Syndra grabbed her by the chin, gently yet firmly, forcing her to maintain eye contact. "One problem at a time, live the now, don't worry about later."

Lux smiled. "It's strange but... I am comforted by your presence. Why is that?"

* * *

The sound of him shuffling along a dimly lit hallway was quite possibly inaudible amidst the other noises coming from the most varied sources, but to his trained ear it was overbearingly loud. So was his reaching into a pocket to retrieve the black box he'd been given by his master. He hid in a secluded corner for just this moment. She'd told him to use it to cover his prints, gave him no other clue.

He studied the box more deeply, a puzzled look beneath the steel mask he'd always worn, perfectly hidden humanity. His agile fingers found a tiny groove along one of the faces, then another, and then... more of them, forming a rather complex pattern. A rose. He almost dropped the box as he realized it – 'twas eerily similar to the Box of Shadows. He knew exactly how to open those. A gentle push into the middle of the rose revealed a hidden button, then an opening that grew bigger and bigger as the lines dissolved slowly, petal by petal, into the other walls. Then he saw the light inside and wondered: was there actually such a thing as a Box of Radiance, and was it this?

Rather than light, what lie in that box would be best described as a gray, vaguely luminescent fog, not wholly unlike that which people flirting with their end would often describe as they regain their ability to interact with the world around them. Zed however didn't notice that quality, he was more worried by it slowly seeping, falling to the floor like very cold air. He foolishly looked deeper inside, closed one eye to try and see through the contents. It emitted a large puff of that most peculiar smoke, hitting him in the face and actually making him drop the box this time around in fright. That was the sole reason he failed to notice the smoke had taken the shape of a woman in a cape, idly staring at the ceiling through its misty eyes.

Zed started crawling back from it on the floor, slumped and fell just beneath the feet of the ethereal entity, his limbs failing him suddenly. "Do not fear," it said, its voice completely silent. "I am but an interface for the Deceiver's magic. A projector. A tool for sharing her prowess."

"Wh... " he was barely finding the breath to reply. "What are you."

"I told you," it said, still making not a sound, "I am an interface. A projector. A tool to enable you to use powerful magic without it running through your physical body."

Its stillness somehow put him somewhat at ease. "Why exactly?"

"Always swords is way too easy to spot. Crude, messy, unexceptional and, worst of all, unrefined. Evaine wants you to spice it up if I am not mistaken."

"That is correct." By now, Zed had found his footing again, even though he was still shaking like a leaf in autumn.

The unshadow floated towards his right, looked intently at nothing. "Haven't ever seen anything like that. Inorganic, waterproof, _monochrome..._ " dripping with disdain "-paintings on the walls."

"Would you mind explaining yourself? LeBlanc gave the box to me, yet she didn't tell how to use it."

"Use me!" The thing seemed to have a good laugh at his expense, loud and hearty enough for him to have sworn it had actually made some sort of physical, tangible sound. He was wrong. "'Use me', you say. Interesting, and inaccurate, choice of words if I say so myself. I can barely recall the last time I was 'used' in such a fashion, it's been far too long. Actually, I never have. You won't use me, but – we can always reach an agreement so long as we share a common goal."

Zed nodded. Was this a weapon, or a leash?

"You only need summon me again once you're next to your mark," it said as it retreated back into the box, 'and I will take care of everything.'

Zed tucked his box on the pocket again. 'Also, spare me this horrible kind of new-fangled art from now on if at all possible.'

The sound of him shuffling onwards was indeed the only one remaining as she let go. Doom went one, two, three steps closer.

* * *

The click-clacking of his shoes as he lead the way into the buried city, the ever present rushing of water behind them, those were the things catching his attention the most whenever the conversation ebbed. Rather fruitful so far, the man was a box of surprises when it came to Noxus. Long metal claws holding a lantern bestowed him of an appearance fit only for the most grotesque of monsters, an appearance in spite of which he seemed quite content to accommodate him.

"And this is the chapel I was talking about earlier." Vladimir stopped, turned to look at him as if to check he was still there. "This was not a place of prayer, but a room to hold audiences in. The heart of Noxus before some people I'd rather not verbose on ripped it out and sold it by pieces."

And quite literally so too. Eight tall columns stood from the foundation in which the whole vault was built, two statues guarding each of their bases. Or rather their remainders, most of them being little more than a pedestal and sometimes parts of what presumably had once been depictions of the human figure.

"By 'ripped it out and tore it to pieces', do you mean they literally sacked the city and made a fortune for themselves out of it, or something else?"

Vladimir chuckled, apparently nervous. "The city was indeed sacked, twice in fact, but that was only brought about by a collapsing, incompetent hierarchy unfit to follow Ajhon's steps. Demacians and barbarians alike had the gall to try and break in, I can only imagine how gleeful they'd be upon realizing everything was rotten to the core. The great razzia of 1017 Minus-CLE was only a matter of time."

"That is long ago indeed. What happened then?"

"Well, it turns out we were not the only decadent ones. Hard as it might be to believe, Demacia had once been a respectable city wherein books were safe. Then House Vayne came into power, foolishly believing they would save the world by being more ruthless and violent than everyone around them, by destroying anything they deemed not to conform to their desires, and went through with it. The first rune war? Lannakki the Second!"

"That was the fifth Vayne king, right?"

"Exactly. As you know, whole swathes of land were left useless as a result, unable to be trod upon by man or beast on pain of a... rather drawn out death. But, alas, it was not just about a few inches or leagues of forest – both our cultures were essentially destroyed. The Noxus you see today is little more than a glorified pitchfork mob bereft of all purpose."

Ezreal nodded, inviting the hemomancer to continue. "And once the war had ended, there was no one to lynch anymore, so... if you don't know already, you can most certainly guess what happened."

"You guys one-upped the Vaynes and started the Second Rune War as everyone was licking their wounds."

Vladimir started walking to the opposite side of the room, egging him on. "Not _us_ , some deranged maniac going by the name of Warfield rather. Brandishing our standards as if his bluster would match the Vaynes' folly. We hardly had any power then, even surviving that was _enough_ as it is but, that's a story for another time, for onward lay many things far more valuable than a stale war will ever be."

"At least the Lightshields rose again because of it if I'm not mistaken," Ezreal said, reluctant to change topic so quickly.

The Crimson Reaper purposefully ignored that last line, opened the doors. The lantern's light played with them, looming shadows engulfing the chapel they were leaving behind every pace they took. More broken statues lay every few meters, always beside the thinly-disguised columns in pairs.

"You see," Vladimir mused, "-Noxus has never been very fond of masses – at least in times far away and past, things have changed. Our system of values once were strong enough for them to stand without want of indoctrination; where others must repeat the same things over and over to keep sane, we chose to advance instead."

At the end of the hall was another wide archway, exactly like those they'd just crossed. The wooden doors in it were in a most pristine condition despite having been buried for a few centuries at least, somehow being spared the passage of time. Such an idea wouldn't be so far-fetched; after all, he knew of a man – Zilean – who could quite possibly cast such a spell without that much effor. _Didn't know Noxus had such intricate magics at their disposal._

"And now," Vladimir carried on as he pushed the doors aside, hinges creaking loudly, "...well, let me undermine my own speech a little, for we're standing in front of the Noxian pantheon."

For once, the darkness was not absolute, the last rays of the afternoon sun trickling through a surviving window up there near the cusp. Calling that a _window_ is perhaps being a little bit generous, being as it was little more than a slit for a (levitating?) archer to fire their weapon.

"If you look closely – you may borrow the lantern should you need it – up there in the podium there's an altar, and there are statues. One of them in particular that might strike you as interesting, being from Piltover and all."

Ezreal, however, had stopped listening as soon as he saw the altar for what it was. "A shrine, to sacrifice what exactly?"

"Oh, nothing," Vladimir said. "As I told you, Noxians have never been religious, much less in a collective fashion. We would never do such a thing as demanding sacrifices to our gods, much less human – after all, as our parents and advisors, they wouldn't regard such acts very highly... whenever we were victorious, whenever we made one step forward in our endeavor, we used to celebrate it with them right here."

Ezreal fought the urge to shake his head. _He doesn't sound like he's talking about religion at all._

"This place used to be much more beautiful than it is now." Vladimir paced absentmindedly around the chamber, ran those claws of his over the walls. "But, alas, it has so long decayed, gone to dust, and so have the very people taking from the stores. Not just the thieves – I could vouch for that to happen to every single one of them – but my people as well. Ah, past times are long gone."

"Wait, is..."

Someone was speaking, no, shouting in a nearby corridor. "...and I get to show them all that Draven is the best there is. Deal."

Vladimir was clearly disapproving. "They will stand agape, gawking at your awesomeness, I have no doubt about that," said a much quieter, womanly voice. "It is a pity Swain himself won't be able to watch your finest performance yet... Syndra's always in the middle, isn't she?"

"Then Draven will prepare a special just for her, force her to admire me for a bit."

Both of them grimaced, if for perhaps different reasons.


End file.
